


Natural Selection

by kesdax



Series: Natural Selection [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/pseuds/kesdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They keep their heads down. They survive. Until their number comes up. Post Season 3 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Season 3 finale.

As Sameen Shaw (no, Mary Woods, that was her name now) served her last drink of the evening before closing time, when the only patrons left at this hour were the really hard boozers, the phone behind the bar rang.

Again.

Gary, her manager, reached a hand out for it but the ringing cut out before his fingers even brushed the hard plastic.

Shaw (Woods) frowned. That was the fifth time it had done that - cut off just when someone went to answer. No, not someone, just _not_ her. She had been too busy pouring drinks all night to worry about answering the phone. She stared at it in thought, wondering if she was just reading too much into it. Probably just those idiot bikers winding Gary up after he barred them the other night. Right?

Gary glared at her pointedly on his way past to restock the fridge with beer and, taking the hint, she began clearing glasses, putting the strange phone calls out of her mind.

The bar wasn't exactly the most glamorous of places. It was a dive if she ever saw one, with its peeling wall paint and sticky floors. Not to mention the questionable clientele. Stereotypical hicks from Hicksville. This is the life the Machine chose for her. The stench of BO and stale beer, the opportunistic ass grabs from the most sleaziest of customers. This was her life now and she could do nothing about it because she was now playing the role of Mary Woods, dumb and nothing but eye candy for behind the bar.

That was the hardest part really, playing dumb. Keeping her mouth shut and not saying the witty comeback, the acerbic comment that was always hot on her lips. Because she couldn't draw attention to herself. Not even here, in the middle of small town nowhere. She was playing a role and she was doing pretty good at it so far.

The last of the patrons staggered out the front of the bar just as she began stacking chairs on tables.

“Have a good one, darlin’.”

“Night, Lou,” she replied and rolled her eyes when he tipped his imaginary hat her way. Lou was actually one of the less sleazy of her customers and the old man reminded her fondly of an old uncle she might have once had, in another life.

She quickly finished stacking the tables, gave the floor a swift mop (any hope of actually removing the decades old drink stains was long gone), said goodnight to Gary and hightailed it out of there before he could ask her to clean the bathrooms.

She had chosen to walk to work that warm, late summer afternoon, but the air had cooled somewhat as the evening had worn on. Shaw – _Woods!_ – zipped her thin jacket up all the way and tried not to shiver as a breeze picked up. Her place wasn’t too far from here, a short ten minute walk and she’d be home sweet home. Not that you could call her one bedroom shack with dodgy plumbing much of a home. But it was a roof over her head and the bed was soft and the landlord made a pretty decent job of keeping the roaches at bay.

She walked down the town’s main street which consisted of _Joe’s_ , the bar she worked in (she had never met Joe and, as far as she was aware, neither had anyone else), and a few shops: the nearest grocery store for fifteen miles, a pharmacy and - because every small town needs one – a tattoo parlour slash liquor store. There were a few other stores that she barely glanced at as she walked by, the street lamps flickering overhead and casting an ominous shadow over the deserted street.

She passed a row of payphones and stopped dead in her tracks when one of them started ringing, the sound loud like a foghorn in the one am quiet.

She stared at it before briefly glancing down the street. Still no one in sight. This phone call was for her.

Her hand was steady when she reached for the receiver, but the adrenaline had already started pumping through her veins and she felt the urge to run.

“Hello?”

The voice that spoke back to her was metallic and cold and so very familiar. A number and an address before the line went dead.

After six months of nothing, no contact and no word from her team, the Machine had finally spit out a number.

*

When Shaw (Woods, goddammit!) google mapped the address she discovered it was for an intersection in Chicago. She wondered who the number was and why the Machine had chosen now, chosen _her_. Why not Reese or Root, or hell, why not even Finch? Unless one of them were the number and she was the only one close enough, the only one _left_ , to help.

Shaw dumped her laptop onto her battered coffee table and grabbed a beer from the kitchen. It wasn’t really a kitchen, just a fridge and a cooker off to the side of the living room, a battered work top and a sink that spurted out rust more than water. She downed half the beer before she threw herself back down on the lumpy couch, one foot resting lazily on the coffee table next to her laptop, the voice of the Machine echoing in her ears. The alcohol did nothing to drown it out and she wished she had something stronger than beer.

The little red blip on google maps seemed to mock her as she sat in her darkened apartment and she stared at it as she finished her beer. She wondered who it represented. Reese could take care of himself, that much she was sure of, but Finch or Root? Finch wouldn’t know _how_ and Root… How many times had she come to Root’s rescue (reluctantly on more than one occasion) over the past year that she had known her? Too many. Root was good with computers and a Taser, but Shaw doubted she could handle herself if Samaritan had found her.

Perhaps it was that thought alone, or maybe because she had never ignored a number since joining Harold Finch’s team, that got her moving. She tossed a change of clothes into an old duffel bag and took out the piece she kept hidden underneath the loose floorboard beneath the bed. She took the silencer and some spare ammo too just in case.

She hefted the bag over one shoulder and closed her laptop on her way out, sending a quick text to Gary to tell him she’d be out of town for a few days due to a family emergency. She didn’t know if he’d buy it. As far as her boss was aware, she had no family, but she didn’t care all that much either way. It’s not like it would be too difficult for her to find another job if he started asking awkward questions.

Shaw tossed the bag in the back seat of her car and quickly hopped into the driver’s seat. Despite the late hour and the fact that she had been working all day, Shaw was too wired to sleep even if she had been tired.

Chicago was close to a six hour drive away, but the roads were quiet and Shaw kept her foot pressed down on the accelerator going as fast as she dared and hoping she would reach the number on time, whoever it may be.

*

It was weird being back in a city after spending so long in the middle of nowhere and the busy streets seemed so noisy compared to what she remembered.

Shaw parked her car at the other end of the block from the intersection the Machine had pinged up and waited. Every time she saw someone in glasses or with a slight limp she thought of Harold. Anyone with broad shoulders reminded her of Reese and any flash of brown hair had her heart thumping in her chest. But all the faces were unfamiliar and she sat there for half an hour, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel, when she saw the two black sedans with tinted windows park down the other end of the street.

Shaw glanced up and down the street, hand gripping the gun hidden in her jacket pocket to reassure herself it was still there. That was when she saw her. Her hair was a little longer and her eyes were hidden beneath the shades she wore to combat the summer sun, but it was definitely her.

Root.

 _Fuck_ , thought Shaw. She had selfishly hoped for Reese. Reese, who would have spotted the ambush waiting from a mile away and would have ten escape routes planned before the bad guys even spotted him.

Shaw watched as Root stopped mid-stride, ducked her head and abruptly changed her route down a narrow alley. Shaw didn’t know if that was stupid or brave; she didn’t know this city well enough to know if that way led to a dead end or if Root knew what she was doing, where she was going.

The doors of both sedans opened and four bulky men stepped out, their eyes on their prey. Shaw spied a 9mm strapped to one of the guys waists and already had her silencer attached and was half way out of her own car before she realised she had made the decision to intervene.

The alley _was_ a dead end; an eight foot chain-linked fence blocked off the other end and Root was trapped, her four pursuers closing in on her.

Shaw didn’t hesitate. She took out the two guys closest to her; two bullets each to the back of the heart. The silencer muffled the shots, but the two guys slumping to the ground caught the attention of the other two, and they both turned around swiftly, guns pointed at her. Shaw squeezed the trigger before they could react and they went down just as easily as the other two.

Shaw finally let herself look at the other woman and the look of surprise on Root’s face was unexpected, but it was gone just as quickly as it came and Shaw was rewarded with that familiar smirk that Root so often used to throw her way. (That same smirk that Shaw liked to think was just for her, before she slammed that thought down and didn’t let it out ever.)

“I knew you’d come for me,” said Root casually, but Shaw could detect the hint of fading fear in her voice.

“No, you didn’t,” said Shaw. “Come on, we gotta go.”

She grabbed Root’s wrist and led her back to her car, eyes searching up and down the street. The black sedans were still and quiet and no one batted them an eyelid as Shaw slammed the driver’s door shut. The engine roared into life, the tires screeching as she got them the hell out of there.

“So… Samaritan found us?” Root said.

“They found you,” said Shaw. She never took her eyes off the road and despite her urge to get out of the city as fast as possible, she was careful not to break the speed limit.

“We need to change cars,” said Shaw.

“How did you know?” asked Root.

Shaw drove them into an underground parking lot. “The Machine.”

Shaw saw Root glance at her sharply from the corner of her eye and she couldn’t be sure, but it was almost as if the other woman was hurt that Shaw had heard from the Machine and she hadn’t.

“Of course,” Root muttered.

They abandoned the car and Shaw kept one hand on her gun as they picked out a new vehicle. Something simple and inconspicuous. She raised the gun to smash the side window in, but Root grabbed her wrist.

“Allow me.” Root pulled out a slim jim from the inside of her jacket and Shaw stared at her, impressed, as she proceeded to break her way into the car. “I always leave the house prepared,” Root said, grinning up at her.

“You know how to hot wire that thing too?” asked Shaw.

“Of course.”

Shaw insisted on driving and when Root leaned over from the passenger seat to hot wire the car, Shaw suspected she was being deliberately slow, enjoying the way Shaw tried not to fidget at the other woman’s close proximity. Shaw could smell the shampoo in her hair, something fruity and fresh that filled her senses and made her head spin.

The engine sparked into life. Shaw didn’t waste any more time getting them out of the city. It took longer than she would have liked. She was careful to make sure they weren’t followed, taking random turns and essentially driving around in circles until she deemed it safe enough.

Outside the city limits, they switched cars again. Root was quiet as Shaw drove them back to the small town she had called home for the past six months. The six hour drive back seemed longer somehow, but Shaw wasn’t inclined to break the silence. Her eyes kept darting between Root at the rear-view mirror, checking they weren’t being followed, and if her eyes lingered on the hacker a little longer than necessary, Shaw tried not read too much into it.

*

They made it back to Shaw’s place in the early evening, when the light was slowly fading, casting stark orange streaks across the skyline.

“Wow, you live here?” Root said, trailing a finger over the top of Shaw’s boxy TV, leaving a trail through the layer of dust.

“Feel free to stay out on the streets,” said Shaw, dumping her bag on the coffee table. “Besides, it’s the best the Machine could give me.” She was pretty sure she managed to keep most of the bitterness out of her voice, but Root raised an eyebrow at her curiously and took a step closer.

“I’m going to assume you’re not too happy about that,” said Root.

Shaw ignored her and took out the spare pillow and blankets she kept in the closet.

“You can take the bed,” said Shaw, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“How chivalrous,” said Root.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m so tired I could sleep on the damn floor.”

Root smirked at her. “Whatever you say, Sameen.”

Root didn’t say anything more as she retreated into Shaw’s one and only bedroom. Shaw stripped down to her underwear and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible on the sagging and lumpy couch. She hadn’t been lying about being tired; she had been awake for well over 24 hours and it was starting to take its toll. Despite the uncomfortableness of her makeshift bed, Shaw was asleep within moments.

Shaw wasn’t prone to dreaming, but that night was filled with haunting and flashing images of Reese and Finch, a bullet in their heads and Root… Root screaming her name as Greer pulled the trigger and the cold voice of the Machine laughing in her head.

*

Shaw awoke to the smell of coffee and something cooking. The unfamiliar scents were more jarring to her system than the quickly fading nightmares in her head. She got up, stretching gawkily to get the kinks out of her aching back and slipped last nights discarded clothes back on before heading into her kitchen.

Root was by the stove, her body blocking Shaw’s view so she couldn’t see what she was cooking.

“Did you go out?” Shaw asked.

Root glanced at her over her shoulder, smiling widely. “Well, the only things you had in your fridge were beer and some questionable looking left-over take out.”

Shaw shrugged, pouring herself a mug of steaming coffee and taking a seat at her small kitchen table. “What can I say? I’m a simple girl.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Root shot back.

“You should have woke me,” Shaw scolded. She didn’t like the idea of Root venturing out on her own, not with Samaritan knowing she was alive.

“I would have,” said Root, “but you were sleeping so deeply… snoring away.”

“I don’t snore.” Shaw scowled into her coffee.

“Yes, you do,” said Root. “Here,” she added, placing a plate of food on the table in front of Shaw.

“You made me breakfast?” said Shaw with a hint of disbelief.

“Call it a thank you for saving my ass,” said Root, handing her a set of cutlery.

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” said Shaw glancing at the plate of food and wondering if Root knew that they were her favourite. She took a bite and her mouth was filled with the fluffiest tasting pancakes she had ever had. It was like heaven in her mouth and she couldn’t keep the tone of surprise out of her voice when she said, “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“You’ll find I’m _full_ of surprises,” said Root. “You have no idea just _what_ I’m good at.”

Shaw swallowed hard around a mouthful of food at the innuendo in the other woman’s voice and didn’t know if it was just Root being Root or something else. She watched the brunette carefully as she began washing up the frying pan and the other dishes she had used. Her hands were steady and Root was projecting that familiar air of overconfidence, but Shaw knew her better than that and suspected it was just a front, that Root’s little encounter with Greer’s goons after so long in hiding had shaken her. The Machine’s grand plan for saving them all had backfired and Root was taking it hard.

The hacker put the last of the dishes on the draining board and turned around to grab up Shaw’s empty plate, pausing when she noticed Shaw’s eyes on her.

“What?” Root asked and there was a hardness to her voice as if she were daring Shaw to probe further.

Shaw didn’t take the bait. Instead she shrugged and drained the last of her coffee. “I’m going for a shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

Shaw (no, _Woods!_ She was Woods in this town, remember?) returned to work the following day and was met with only mild annoyance from her boss. If she was anyone else he probably would have cut her loose just to be rid of the hassle. But his only other female bartender, who hadn’t quit on him after one shift, was a chubby redhead with crossed-over eyes who didn’t gain nearly as much tips as Shaw did, even when she was at her most surly.

Mixing drinks was easy and familiar and left her plenty of time to think. _Too much time_ , she thought when her thoughts immediately turned to Root, sitting alone in her apartment where it was safe.

They hadn’t talked much about anything the day after Root made her breakfast. Shaw had sat on her couch, emptying her fridge of beer and scowling into the distance as Root made it her mission to turn her place into something more liveable. Apparently food wasn’t the only thing Root had stocked up on when she had went shopping that morning and she proceeded to give the apartment a thorough clean with her recently purchased cleaning products. Shaw didn’t know if it was an extension of the thank you or if Root had just needed something to do. Not that she was about to complain about it anytime soon, not with her place now looking less like a shack that even the dirtiest of hobo’s wouldn’t step foot in, and more like somewhere someone would actually live.

When Shaw had drunk her apartment dry of beer, and when she couldn’t stand to watch Root anymore, she had ventured out of the apartment without a word. The car they had stolen the previous day was still parked outside her place. Shaw cursed when she saw it. She didn’t want to risk the local sheriff coming across it, so she drove it to the outskirts of town and dumped it in an old abandoned barn, its roof caving in from disrepair. Shaw made sure to wipe it clean of fingerprints. She didn’t think anyone would find it for a while.

By the time she made it back home, the place was in darkness. Shaw had crept through her small apartment, pausing at the slightly ajar door of her bedroom. Root was fast asleep. Shaw watched her for a moment, noted the steady rise and fall of her chest, before shutting the door firmly and retreating to her makeshift bed on the couch.

It took her longer to fall asleep than it had the night before.

*

 _Joe’s_ was quiet tonight - just the regulars, including Lou, who grinned at her when she glanced over to his darkened corner, raising his glass to her in salute. Her lips twitched in response and when she turned back around it quickly developed into a frown when she saw Root sitting at the other end of the bar.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come check out where you work,” said Root glancing around at the bar’s dingy facade. “Nice place.”

“Did you want something?” said Shaw, ignoring the other woman’s sarcasm.

“Hm,” said Root contemplatively, “make me something fancy.”

“This isn’t really that kind of place,” said Shaw, darting one eye around the bar to make sure no one was listening in to their conversation. Shaw (no, _Mary Woods_ ) had maintained the pretence of not having many friends and she had gotten pretty good at hiding her past. She kept to herself. She bothered no one, and no one bothered her. But Root was a loose cannon, she always had been, and Shaw doubted her presence in town would go unnoticed. She sensed trouble brewing, and if there was one thing Shaw was good at (apart from shooting people) it was learning to listen to her instincts. “I got beer or hard liquor. Pick one.”

Root smirked and the knowing look she threw Shaw’s way irked her and sent her mood plummeting.

“Scotch,” said Root. “Neat.”

Shaw poured Root her drink then retreated to the other end of the bar, polishing a glass that didn’t need polishing and looking anywhere but at the brunette. She didn’t notice her boss coming up behind her, but her well-trained reflex responses stopped her from flinching when he spoke in her ear.

"You glaring at anyone in particular? Or are you just trying to scare away my customers?" Gary hissed. Shaw raised her eyebrow at him, glancing at the near empty bar. "Would it kill you to crack a smile?" he added.

"You don't want me to answer that," Shaw muttered, but Gary had already slumped back into his office. He called it an office, but it was more of a broom closet. It wasn't as if he actually did any work in there anyway. Unless you called playing Flappy Bird work. It was a slow night and he was taking full advantage of it, leaving Shaw to pour drinks and watch the bar.

"Hey, bartender," said a voice from the other end of the bar. "Can I have another one?"

Root waved her empty glass in Shaw's direction, that smirk still on her face that Shaw was starting to associate with the annoyed feeling in her chest. She snatched the glass up wordlessly, poured Root her drink, but before she could go back to glowering at thin air, the other woman attempted to engage her in conversation again.

"Isn't this the part where you ask me my troubles?" said Root impishly. "Lend me a sympathetic ear?"

Shaw glared. "Do I look like a fucking shrink to you?"

“No, _Mary_ ,” said Root pointedly, “you look pissed.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Shaw retorted.

"So angry," said Root, "bartending really doesn't suit you."

"Oh yeah?" said Shaw, trying to keep the ire out of her voice. "And what does suit me?"

Root said nothing, but gave her that smirk again. The smirk that was roguish, with just a hint of flirt and something else she couldn’t identify. Shaw prided herself on being able to read people. She may not be able to understand their motives, but she could always tell if they were good people or bad people. With Root, it was a whole other ball game. Root she couldn't decipher. Root said one thing, then would go and do something completely out of left field. And half the time it was because the Machine was in her head telling her to do so. Except, she didn't have the Machine to provide her with a script anymore, did she? The Machine had stopped talking to her and Shaw wondered just how much Root had come to rely on that. The Machine had given Root a purpose, a mission. Without that, would she go back to being that slightly unhinged hacker from before?

Shaw didn't need to ask. She already knew the answer. Because the Machine had given her a purpose too. But then it had taken it away and now she was left with _this_. Left with some dead end job, in some rundown town, with no future, no reason for being.

Yeah, she could picture Root taking the crazy way out. Could _understand_ it. Because right now, crazy seemed like a hell of a lot more fun than _this_.

*

Root didn't move from her stool at the bar all night and she made quick work of the second drink before ordering a third and making it last. Shaw could feel the other woman's eyes on her as she worked, clearing tables and adding more to Lou's tab as he slowly drank the night away. Shaw tried to ignore it, tried to pretend Root was just another customer, but when she looked up after exchanging some witty banter with the old man, Root was smiling distantly at her. She didn't know why, didn't even know why the other woman was still here. Not just in the bar, but in her life. Root wasn't like other numbers. There was the lifesaving part, yes, that was familiar. But usually that would be it and anything more sentimental that had been required, Shaw had left up to Harold or Reese. (Apart from Gen - but she was safe and so very far away from Mary Woods and Samaritan that it was easier not to think of her.)

Yet here Root was, following her around like a lost puppy. It reminded her of something, from a long time ago…

_We can’t keep him, Sam, who's going to take care of him?_

_Me!_ Five year old Sameen Shaw had declared. But her dad hadn't let her keep the stray cat she had found on her way home from school. He had sent it on its way back out on the street. Sam had worried about it getting cold in the harsh winter; imagined its orange and gold streaked fur crusting stiff with ice in the below zero temperatures. She hadn't slept for a week until the snow storms passed and the January sun had peeked its way out behind the clouds to start melting the ice. She had named the cat Todd in her head, and although she looked for him every day on her way to and from school, she had never seen that little ball of ginger fur again.

Her dad reassured her that it had probably found its way home in the end, cats always did.

But Sam knew the truth. Todd the cat had died that winter. Sam didn't feel sad about it though. She just felt angry because she could have prevented it, if only her dad had let her keep the stray.

That was part of the reason Root was still here. She was a stray and Shaw knew all too well what happened to strays when they got left out in the cold.

"You still here?" Shaw asked, dumping a pile of empty glasses from Lou's table onto the bar.

Root shrugged. "Where else would I be?"

 _Dead in the ground_ , Shaw thought. _If it wasn't for me._

"Want another drink?" Shaw asked, pushing the thought away.

Root eyed her with mild surprise then downed the rest of her drink. "Hit me."

Shaw picked up the glass and refilled it. The door to the bar swung open. It was late, near closing, and Shaw knew who it was before she got a good look at him. Billy Danes, deputy Sheriff. He was still in his uniform and he tipped his hat towards the guys in the back corner, but it wasn't a friendly gesture. Nothing Danes ever did was friendly. Everything he did was a warning. _I've got my eye on you_ , the gesture said.

Danes slinked up to the bar, a grin forming on his face as he noticed the sole person occupying it.

Shaw wordlessly handed Root her drink, and as if sensing the shift of atmosphere in the room, Root glanced sideways at the newcomer.

Danes had eyes only for Root, but when he spoke, his words were for Shaw. "Who’s your friend, Mary?"

"Not interested in you," she replied.

Danes smirked coldly. "Pour me a big one," he said, "and get the lady another."

Shaw got Danes his beer, slammed it on the bar top but didn't get Root another drink. Danes gave her that smirk again before moving to a table that gave him a good vantage point of the bar, and Root's ass.

"What was that about?" Root asked.

"Nothing."

But Shaw had always been adept at reading people and Danes was what she would call ‘bad people.’ She had sensed that from her first night in the bar, when he'd hit on her even as his wedding ring glared at her blatantly. But it wasn't just that he was a sleaze. As she had made her way home that night, she had saw him bothering a couple of girls, barely older than twenty. He'd baited them and groped them, regardless of the uniform he wore. Shaw had gotten involved, ordered the girls home or back to wherever they came from and they'd left hurriedly, their eyes screaming thank you.

She hadn't hit Danes, but she had wanted to. She was conscious of the low profile she was supposed to be maintaining, and so she had told him to go home to his wife, and didn't break his legs like she had wanted to.

 _Use your words, Sameen_ …

It wasn't even that incident that had led Shaw to categorise him as ‘bad people.’ She had followed him home - maybe it was to make sure he didn't bother anyone else, or maybe she was just curious - and watched from the street as he beat the crap out of his wife, itching to intervene and having to remind herself that he was a cop and she was a bartender and this wasn't her life anymore. She had went home that night, drank half a bottle of Jim Beam and still couldn't get the look of fear that had been on Mrs Danes' face, as her husband had slammed his fist into her stomach, out of her head.

Danes had never really tried anything in the bar though and not because he was trying to be discreet. She suspected he behaved himself because he was slightly scared of Gary. Gary, who topped six foot and a half and had the muscles of a bodybuilder and who wouldn't care if Danes was a cop - he didn't like _anyone_ starting shit in his bar.

Gary had sensed the change in mood too, and stood at the door to his broom closet, arms folded just a little bit too casually. Danes raised his glass to him and all but downed it in one. He slammed a bill on the table before flipping his hat back on his head and exiting the bar.

Gary waited for a beat then barked, "It's closing time, drink up."

The patrons finished their drinks and shuffled out the bar in record time. Lou, instead of his usual imaginary hat tip to her, muttered goodbye to Shaw as he stumbled out of the bar.

“Here,” said Shaw, tossing Root a mop, “make yourself useful.”

With the other woman’s help, they got the place tidied up quicker than Shaw normally would have if she had been on her own. Shaw was just finishing putting the clean glasses away when Gary once again appeared at the doorway to his office, his eyes on Root.

“You as good at pouring drinks as you are at cleaning floors?”

Root shrugged. “Not much difference in a place like this.”

Gary’s shoulders tensed for a moment, but then he laughed – a deep rumbling sound that came from the very centre of his chest.

Shaw looked between her boss and a smirking Root, not liking where this was going.

“I could use an extra pair of hands on Saturdays – if you’re interest?” said Gary.

Root pondered his offer for a moment, but Shaw was pretty sure she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t the least bit surprised when she agreed.

Shaw retrieved her jacket from the back room, slipped it on and left the bar without a word. She purposely kept up a hurried pace, but Root, with her longer legs, managed to catch up just as she was passing the closed up liquor store. It wasn’t the first time Shaw cursed their midnight closing time as she realised her place was completely dry of anything remotely alcoholic. Unless you counted mouthwash. Which she didn’t. Shaw wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Both woman were silent on the walk back and, to Shaw, it seemed to take forever. She could feel Root watching her carefully, the same way she had been watching her all night whilst she worked. It felt like the other woman could see past that hard exterior she projected, could see past Mary Woods, and see _her_ , see Sameen Shaw, the little girl who had been more affected by a stray cat than she had been about her own father dying.

Shaw would have slammed the front door shut if Root hadn’t been right behind her. Instead, she occupied herself with banging open every cupboard in her small place in the hope that she had been wrong about the lack of booze.

Root closed the door delicately, her arms folded as she stared at Shaw. “Just say it.”

“Say what?” said Shaw, giving up her search for a drink and instead breaking into a family sized pack of potato chips.

“Come on, Sameen,” she replied. “We both know you’re not that stupid.”

“Fine,” Shaw snapped, tossing aside the bag of chips onto the counter. “Are you fucking crazy?” All that pent up rage she’d been holding in all night finally spilled out. Which was fine with her, she was done with that playing nice shit anyway.

Root didn’t even flinch at the outburst, which just pissed Shaw off more. In that moment, she hated the way Root stood there all calm, as if Samaritan hadn’t just found her, as if her life wasn’t in danger.

“You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit for me, Sameen,” Root said. “Which event of the evening are you referring to?”

“You know fine well what I’m talking about,” Shaw said. Fucking Gary and his fucking job offer. Because Gary, although he looked like a brainless steroid pusher, was a stickler for the rules and would almost certainly go checking up on Root’s ID. And even if he didn’t, Danes, the asshole, more than likely would. And by then it would only be a matter of time before Samaritan caught up with them.

“What, am I supposed to sit in your crummy apartment all day every day, waiting for you to come home?” Root asked. Her voice had raised slightly, her eyes flashing, and it was the first time Shaw could really remember the other woman ever getting angry.

“No,” said Shaw, “you’re supposed to not get yourself killed. Samaritan found you, Root,” she added less harshly.

Root rolled her eyes. “I _know_ that.”

“Do you?” Shaw snapped. “Because it doesn’t fucking look like it.”

“I can take care of myself,” Root said steadily.

Shaw snorted. “Is that why I had to come save your ass?”

“The Machine –”

 “The Machine what?” Shaw said. “The Machine’s not talking to you, Root. Not anymore. What,” Shaw added when Root said nothing, “can’t think what to say without a voice in your head telling you what to do?”

Shaw knew she had crossed a line even as she said it, but at that moment she didn’t really care.

“Fuck you, Shaw,” Root said quietly. Root stormed past her and into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her. It reverberated in its frame, and the photographic print of Jesus on the cross that had come with her furnished apartment, fell to the floor with a crash.

“Great,” Shaw muttered. “Just fucking great.”

*

Shaw had another restless night. By five, when the sun was just starting to come up and the ache in the small of her back began to get worse, she decided to go for a run. The heavy pounding of her feet on the sidewalk, the adrenaline thrumming through her veins… and yet she still couldn’t shift that feeling of guilt. Then she got angry at herself for feeling it in the first place, because this was _Root._ Root, who had always been a pain in her ass, who had tried to torture her with a hot iron the first time they had met. But that was a long time ago. Root was different now… right?

Shaw slowed to a walk, wiping the sweat off her face with one arm. The sun was fully in the sky and it was already starting to get hot. It was going to be a nice summer’s day, but Shaw found she would rather have rain lashing down on her, soaking her to the bone.

She passed _Ole Mamma’s_ bakery and the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach growl. The bakery always opened early so Shaw headed inside, ordered two large coffees and a tray of mixed doughnuts before heading home.

When Shaw kicked the front door shut behind her, she found Root sitting at the kitchen table, her hair still wet from the shower. Shaw placed the coffee and the doughnuts in front of the other woman wordlessly. Root glanced up at her, her face a mask of stony silence.

“Call it an apology,” Shaw said, “for me being an ass.”

Root smiled at that and Shaw felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Root opened the box of doughnuts but hesitated before taking one.

“I seem to recall making _you_ breakfast,” Root said.

Shaw shrugged and snatched up a doughnut with pink icing and sprinkles. “Yeah, I don’t do that kind of shit.”


	3. Chapter 3

Root's recent employment and Gary's subsequent background check didn't cause them any immediate problems, but Shaw stayed on her guard all the same and had taken to carrying her back up piece strapped to her ankle with her everywhere she went, and made sure Root never went out alone. This caused them both problems, mainly because the unrelenting close proximity was starting to get on each other’s nerves. It wasn't Root's presence that got to Shaw, but her flippant attitude towards everything. It was a front, she thought, the way Root so calmly went about her day as if Decima weren't hiding around the corner, waiting for them to slip up.

After spending a week sleeping on her battered couch, Shaw's back had taken to twinging randomly throughout the day, which only worsened her mood, so she had taken to going out for extra-long runs in the mornings to ease the tension in her body. It had the added benefit of giving her some space from the other woman and it soon became a routine that Shaw looked forward to.

Saturday’s were always _Joe’s_ busiest nights and Shaw and Root quickly found a working rhythm that suited them. They weaved eloquently around each other behind the bar, like they were made to move together and Shaw could tell Gary was impressed with the way they poured drinks with seamless efficiency. He liked the tips they made too. And Root made a _lot_ of tips.

Shaw watched out from the corner of her eye as Root flirted and charmed the socks off of every person in the bar, men and women alike. Even Lou had taken a fancy to her, although he assured ‘Mary’ that she was still his favourite.

On Root’s second Saturday shift at the bar, it seemed like most of the town had made an appearance and Shaw could barely push her way through the crowd to collect the empty glasses. It was so busy that even Gary was behind the bar. Shaw walked past him with the stack of empties in her arms.

“Never seen the place this busy before,” she muttered to him.

Gary shrugged. “We can thank your friend for that.”

Shaw glanced Root’s way. She was giving some guy dressed entirely in denim her brightest smile and he was doing his damnedest to charm her right back. Shaw walked over to the other woman, giving the guy in denim her best scowl until he backed off into the crowd. She recognised him vaguely as one of the louts that always hung around with Danes.

“Enjoying yourself?” Shaw muttered.

Root glanced at her over her shoulder. "I've always been a people person."

Shaw snorted. "Yeah right."

Shaking her head, Shaw retreated into the crowd of people once again and tried to ignore the annoyed feeling in her gut every time she thought of Root and that smile that was directed to everyone and anybody that came near her tonight. A few people gave her a polite “hello” as she passed, but most of them gave her a wide berth. She had been keeping a low profile during her time here in this town, but that hadn't stopped Mary Woods from getting a reputation as someone constantly in a bad mood. It was probably only her looks (and the fact that _Joe's_ was the only bar in town) that kept half the customers coming back. With Root, it was the exact opposite, and she had somehow managed to charm the entire town in one shift. As a result, it seemed that the bar's clientele had doubled over night. Gary hadn't been complaining, but Shaw didn't like it. There was too many people, too many unknowns. The only small comfort was that no one could try anything in a crowd like this, not unless they were willing to risk collateral damage. But then, she thought, since when had Decima ever cared about collateral damage? They'd probably blow up the entire town if it meant getting to Root and Shaw.

"Your girlfriend's good," said a voice in her ear.

Shaw turned around to find Lou grinning at her from ear to ear.

"She's not my girlfriend," Shaw grumbled. "I don't even like her most of the time."

"Uh-huh," said Lou knowingly. "Is that why you've been glaring at everyone who even so much as looks her way all night?"

"I have not," Shaw began, then realised he was probably spot on. She cleared her throat. "I always glare at everyone."

Lou just grinned at her again before taking another sip of his drink.

"Whatever, old man," she muttered, rolling her eyes. But his words wouldn't leave her head and her eyes quickly found Root, locking with the other woman's briefly before Shaw forced herself to look away. She snatched up a glass from a nearby table. It was still half full with a dark coloured beer and its owner shouted “hey!” at her as she pushed her way through the throng, downing the contents.

The alcohol felt good going down her throat, but she knew Gary would have a fit if he caught her drinking on the job. So many rules and stipulations, it was almost worse than working for Harold.

Almost.

At least with Finch, she had felt like she was doing something productive, something worthwhile. Here, it just felt like she was rotting, biding her time until someone put a bullet in her.

The Machine couldn't have placed her new identity in somewhere more exciting? Somewhere where she could use her skills? It was almost as if it was punishing her. Punishing her for failing to stop Samaritan from coming online in the first place. Which was stupid really, because how were any of them supposed to stop it when the Machine had kept them in the dark at every turn? Shaw wasn't even sure Root had had the entire picture most of the time. She had just known that something was coming, something bad, and trusted the Machine blindly to get them through it.

Well look how that worked out.

They were alive, yes, but Shaw didn't think her new life as Mary Woods was worth it.

*

As the night wore on, Shaw's mood didn't improve, but it wasn't her dark looks that cleared everyone out of the bar. Deputy Billy Danes managed to that all by himself as soon as he walked through the door. Shaw watched as some of the less brave customers (or those who just preferred an easily life) abandoned their drinks and made a hasty exit out of the front door. Lou glanced her way then quickly retreated into his usual spot at the table in the back corner.

Shaw never took her eyes off the deputy, and the solid weight of the gun strapped to her ankle was reassuring.

Danes sauntered up to the bar, smiling widely when he saw Root. "Well, well, well, look who it is."

"Hey there," said Root, throwing him that bright smile again. Shaw clenched her fist, but was glad to see the smile didn't quite reach Root's eyes.

"What can I get you?" Root asked.

Danes ordered his usual and stood at the bar, nursing his drink, watching Root as she worked.

Shaw didn't like the way he looked at her. Didn't like the way Danes stared hungrily after Root as if she was something he could claim and take for his own.

Shaw watched him carefully, itched to have the gun in her hand even as she thought that a bullet was too good for this guy and wondered where his wife was tonight. Wondered if she was at home, nursing a fresh bruise and dreading her husband coming home drunk. Not that Danes needed to be drunk to beat the crap out of his wife. Alcohol wasn't an excuse he could use to explain away his behaviour. He beat his wife stone cold sober, just like he terrorised the town on a daily basis.

Root moved around the bar to clear away some tables and Danes took the opportunity to make his move. He grabbed Root around the waist, pulling her into his lap. Root tried to move out of his grip, but he held her tight.

Shaw felt something inside of her snap and, abandoning the pretence of clearing away glasses, moved towards them.

"I don't think she's interested."

Danes stilled his hand movements, currently attempting to get underneath Root's shirt, and shifted his head slightly to look at her.

"And what the hell business is it of yours?"

"Seriously," Shaw said and was surprised at how calm her voice sounded considering the rage that was currently burning through her. "Let her go."

Danes pushed Root unceremoniously away from him and pulled himself to his full height, standing toe to toe with Shaw, as if he was trying to look menacing. But Shaw had never been intimidated by someone else's height, considering most people were bigger than her, and she smirked up at him. She could see Lou staring at her with concern from across the bar, but he stayed frozen in his seat. Shaw didn't blame the old man. Besides, it wasn't as if she needed his assistance anyway.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Shaw said.

Danes gritted his teeth and moved his right arm, probably to go for his gun, but maybe not. Either way, Shaw moved quickly and she had already knocked his arm away before he could blink.

"Shaw," Root warned.

Maybe it was the use of her real name - a stark reminder of all she used to be - or maybe it was just six months pent up frustration and anger finally bursting at the seams that caused her to bring her fist up to connect with Danes’ jaw.

He staggered backwards with a grunt, muttering "fucking bitch" through a mouthful of blood. Shaw grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the bar. He slumped to floor out cold.

"Fucking dykes," said a voice behind her as something smashed into the back if her head. A beer bottle by the looks of things, Shaw noted absently as she staggered around to get a look at her attacker. Dressed in Denim was staring at her menacingly.

"Oh, you are really gonna wish you hadn't fucking done that," Shaw said, taking a step forward.

Root grabbed her arm, stilling her. "Don't," she said, her voice a warning.

Shaw pulled away from her but swayed on the spot, her vision going slightly blurry. She reached a hand up to the back of her head, bringing back blood, sticky between her fingers.

Dressed in Denim picked up another empty bottle, smashing it against a table and pointing the jagged edge in her direction.

"That the best you got?" Shaw asked. She thought about going for her gun, but right now, using her fists was probably going to bring her more satisfaction.

"That's enough," a voice barked and the sound of a gun cocking filled the room. Gary appeared behind the bar, shotgun in his hands. "I don’t like fights in my bar," he reminded them. Denim dropped the bottle in his hand, not wanting to risk Gary's wrath and bent down to check on the deputy. Gary shot Shaw a questioning look, like he couldn't quite believe his bartender was capable of hand to hand combat, not to mention the fact that she had taken on the six foot deputy who had a gun, and a grudge, and won.

"We should go," Root said, nudging her slightly towards the door.

Shaw shrugged away from her touch. She felt lightheaded from the scalp wound but would be damned if she let Root help her out of there. Root quickly retrieved their stuff from the back room as Gary (along with the rest of the bar) still stared at her mutely.

"Sorry about the mess," she said as Root passed Shaw her jacket. Shaw slipped it on, her eyes meeting Lou's across the room. He gaped at her and she felt a pang of regret as she walked out of the bar, knowing it was probably the last time she would ever see the old man. He was the only person in this godforsaken town that she had actually liked.

*

Fortunately, it was still early, so the liquor store was still open. Shaw pushed the glass door open, Root following behind her wordlessly, arms folded and a pissed off look on her face.

Shaw grabbed a bottle of vodka off one of the shelves and tossed enough money at the cashier to cover it and more. He stared at her for moment and she wondered just how badly she was bleeding from that head wound. It didn't feel too bad at the moment, but she knew it would be throbbing in the morning by the time the adrenaline wore off.

Outside, Shaw twisted loose the cap of the bottle and tossed it aside into the middle of the road, taking a deep drink. The vodka burned its way down her throat but it was like an old friend coming home and she relished the feel of it.

Shaw had worked her way through about a third of the bottle by the time they made it back to her apartment. She kicked her shoes off at the door and staggered to the couch, her shin catching the edge of the coffee table and only Root's firm grip on her upper arms kept her from sprawling to the floor. Shaw pulled out of her hands and managed to sit down without any more incidents. She drank more of the vodka as Root disappeared, returning a moment later with a first aid kit in her hands. She perched on the edge of the coffee table and bent Shaw's head down to get a better look at her wound.

"I don't think it'll need stitches," she said.

"Is that your expert medical opinion?" Shaw asked.

Root glared at her and pressed a gauze firmly down on the wound. Shaw hissed and batted Root’s hand away.

"That was stupid, you know," Root said, searching in the first aid kit for some badges. "I don't need you defending my honour."

"Don't flatter yourself," Shaw said, leaning back. "I didn't do it for you." It wasn't a total lie, but Root still looked at her as if she didn't quite believe her.

"Aren’t you the one that keeps harping on about keeping a low profile?" Root said, removing the gauze and fixing a bandage firmly to the wound. "I think the bleeding's stopped."

Shaw grunted, unconcerned and watched the other woman carefully as she concentrated on what she was doing.  Although she had seemed pissed when they left the bar, she looked remarkably calm now, and Shaw realised belatedly that Root had walked away from the bar fight without a scratch. It didn't seem like Root, to just sit there and take it as some guy fondled her in front of a bar full of people. Where was the old Root, the Root that would have tasered the guy before he could even touch her? She missed that Root so fiercely that she almost resented the shell of the woman sitting in front of her. The woman without the Machine in her ear, without a purpose.

"Aren't you tired, Root?" Shaw said suddenly, leaning forward. "Aren't you tired of hiding?"

"It's not hiding," Root said, tidying up the contents of the first aid kit, her eyes diverted. "It's surviving."

"But it's hardly living, is it?" Shaw said quietly. This time Root looked up, their eyes locked and Shaw found herself leaning even further forward, her gaze darting down to Root's mouth, at her slightly parted lips.

Root leaned back. "Shaw, you don't want to do this."

"Yeah, I do," said Shaw honestly. "I really do."

This time when she moved forward, Root didn't pull back.

Shaw still had the bottle of vodka in one hand, but with her free one she grabbed Root by the lapel of her jacket and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, forcing her tongue into the other woman's mouth.

Root's hands found her shoulders and she gently pushed Shaw back, breaking the kiss.

"No, not like this," she said shaking her head slightly. Shaw looked at her questioningly, not used to being turned down, but was happy to see the flush of Root's cheeks and the slight hitch of her breath that gave her arousal away. "You're drunk and you’re angry," Root explained.

"When am I not drunk and angry?" Shaw said and took another swig from the bottle nonchalantly to prove her point.

Root stared at her for moment before standing up. "Come on," she said, pulling Shaw to her feet. Shaw let her - she _was_ drunk and the blood loss from her head wound hadn't helped - and she swayed on her feet slightly as Root guided her to the bedroom.

"Okay, you're kinda giving me mixed signals here," Shaw said as Root pushed her towards the bed.

"Sleeping on that couch has made you grouchy and off your game," said Root, prising the bottle of vodka out of Shaw's grip and placing it carefully on the nightstand. "And I'm gonna need you cranked to eleven."

"Whatever," Shaw muttered as Root pushed her back onto the bed. Shaw liked the feel of it, Root leaning over her as she pressed her down. She wondered what it would be like if it was the other way around, if it was Root beneath her on the bed. She thought about doing just that, thought how easily it would be to grab Root and have her flipped onto her back, squirming delightfully beneath her. And Sameen Shaw had never been turned down twice before in her life. But before she could do anything, her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light.

*

Shaw's eyes snapped open when someone shook her awake, her arm reaching out blindly for the gun on the nightstand that wasn't there, knocking the bottle of vodka over in the process. It took Shaw a moment to realise it was just Root standing over her, but that thought wasn't exactly comforting as she remembered Root giving her another wakeup call over a year ago. There was no taser in sight this time though, just Root staring down at her, the corners of her lips twitching as she moved quickly to straighten the knocked over bottle. It was too late to save the contents though, and the clear liquid dripped to the floor and the reeking smell of the distilled spirit filled her senses.

"What time is it?" Shaw asked groggily. Her head was pounding, and it was a relief that Root hadn't turned the lamp on because Shaw didn't think her eyes could take it.

"Get up," Root whispered. "We need to go. Now."

Shaw heard the apprehension in Root’s tone and was up almost instantly despite the protest coming from her throbbing head. “Why, what’s going on?” she asked as Root handed Shaw her discarded shoes and she quickly pulled them on.

“Deputy Danes and friend are out front,” Root explained, bending down to pull something out from under the bed.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “I’m going to kill that fucking guy.”

“No,” said Root, “you’re not. Low profile, remember?”

“Whatever,” Shaw said, tying the last of her shoelaces. “What are you doing?”

Root hefted a large duffel bag from under the bed and dumped it at Shaw’s feet with a clatter. “I took the liberty of making some preparations. Just the essentials,” she added.

Shaw raised an eyebrow at her before peering in the bag. It was filled with an array of guns – definitely more varied and lethal than anything in Shaw’s current arsenal – and several stacks of hundred dollar bills. Shaw pulled one out and flicked through it.

“What did you do, rob a bank?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Root said cryptically. “Come on Short Stack, time to go.”

Shaw grumbled at the nickname but there wasn’t time to comment further on it as a large thud hit against the front door; someone trying to kick it open by the sound of things. Shaw followed Root as she lifted the bag and began to escape through the bedroom window.

In the alley at the back of Shaw’s apartment building, Root had a car waiting for them and she tossed the bag into the bag seat quickly before opening the driver’s door. Shaw paused for a moment, staring at the car in wonder. Between the vehicle, the guns and the money, it looked like Root had been a little busy the past couple of weeks. So much for staying indoors where it was safe.

Shaw made a move for the driver’s seat. “I’m driving,” she said.

Root stared at her, shaking her head. “With a concussion and that cheap ass vodka… no, you’re not. That’s a bad combination. Besides,” she added, “we don’t have time to argue, so get in.”

Shaw opened her mouth to protest but there was a shout from above and she spied Danes’ head peeking out of her bedroom window. “Fine,” she snapped and got into the passenger seat.

Root had been right about the head wound and the booze being a bad combination though, because almost as soon as Shaw had sat down and rested her head against the window, she fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Shaw woke up abruptly when the car door slammed shut. She groaned, her head feeling like someone had pressed it between a vice, and looked over to what had woken her.

Root had just gotten back into the car, a brown paper bag in one hand.

"You look like shit," Root said.

Shaw straightened in her seat. "Well, good morning to you too," she grumbled.

Root smirked. "Actually it's after noon. Here," she added, "I got you lunch."

'Lunch' was a candy bar retrieved from the brown paper bag and tossed her way. Shaw let it fall into her lap, staring at the other woman until she finally sighed and turned to face her.

"What?" Root asked, her voice filled with exasperation.

Shaw shrugged. "You want to tell me how you managed all this?" She gestured to the bag of guns and money in the back seat.

"I told you," said Root, "I took the liberty of making some preparations. I knew we would have to leave your little town at some point. Although..." Here she paused and looked at Shaw pointedly. "I wasn't planning on leaving quite so suddenly."

The way Root looked at her, it was as if she were expecting an apology. That wasn't about to happen anytime soon. As far as Shaw was concerned, Root should be the one apologising to her for not letting her put a bullet in Danes.

Shaw took another look at Root’s preparations and was impressed despite herself. Had she really expected Root to sit around all day twiddling her thumbs? Her face must have betrayed how pissed off she felt at that because Root rolled her eyes and started the car.

"You really need to stop underestimating me, Sameen."

Shaw didn't know what to say to that and felt it was probably safer to change the subject. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Kansas."

Shaw glanced out the window. It looked like typical middle of nowhere to her. "We going anywhere in particular?"

Root shrugged. "It's probably best we don’t know where we're headed."

Shaw silently agreed but didn't say anything, and once again felt herself feeling impressed. Maybe Root was right. Maybe Shaw was underestimating her.

They drove for another hour or so until Root stopped the car outside a depressing looking motel, the parking lot filled with more motorbikes than Shaw had ever seen at one time. "I need to sleep," she said. "I've been driving for over nine hours."

Shaw shrugged; she wasn't feeling too hot herself and was badly in need of a shower to wash the dried blood out of her hair.

Root took the bag with their cash and their guns and held it to her tightly as they walked into the motel's dingy reception. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke and mould. Shaw suppressed the urge to gag and tried her best to hide the fact that she was hung-over, covered in blood and just generally pissed off.

"You with those biker fellers?" the guy on reception asked. His voice was gravelly and he had a lit cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"No," said Root, "but we're going to need a room."

"I only got one left," he said, taking a lone key from the hooks behind him. "It's a double... That gonna be a problem?" he asked timidly, eyeing them both up and down and quickly diverting his eyes when Shaw glared his way.

“Not a problem," said Root. "In fact, it might just be exactly what we need."

Shaw looked at her sharply as the guy's jaw dropped open, his cigarette falling to the floor. He reached a hand out to catch it, burning himself in the process. Root smirked and took the key from his outstretched hand, and gave him enough money to cover more than a week’s stay. And then she winked - actually fucking winked - at Shaw as she sauntered past.

"Uh, it's the last one on the left," the guy called after her.

"You know those things will kill you, right?" Shaw said, gesturing to the smouldering cigarette in his hand. "Well, not as effectively as a bullet..." She shrugged and followed Root out, the guy staring after her quizzically.

The room was just as dingy looking as the rest of the place, but at least the sheets looked clean.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Shaw offered when she saw the double bed.

Root rolled her eyes and dumped the bag on the floor by the door. "Don't be such a baby, Sameen," she said. "It's big enough for the both of us."

Shaw scowled but didn't say anything as she walked into the bathroom. It was small - so small that Shaw could barely turn around without hitting her elbow off of something. There was a shower cubicle, a toilet and a sink and she was relieved to see that all three looked reasonably clean as well. She wasn't the least bit surprised to find the lock on the door was busted. She still made a point of shutting it firmly behind her though. Not that she cared about propriety or anything, but her fuzzy hung-over state was bringing up memories of the night before that she would rather pretend never happened, and she would rather not give Root anymore ammunition than she already had.

Shaw turned the shower on; it trickled out but it was warm. She stripped out of her crumpled clothes - it had been awhile since she passed out drunk fully clothed - and stepped under the water. It stung when it hit her wound, but she didn't think the cut was too bad. It would probably heal up nicely in a couple of days. When she was sure she had managed to wash all of the dried blood out of her hair, she shut off the shower and stepped out to find Root standing in the doorway staring at her.

"I brought you a towel," said Root.

"Yeah, I can see that," said Shaw, snatching the towel from Root's outstretched hand. Root deliberately eyed her up and down as Shaw wrapped the towel around herself, never taking her eyes off the other woman.

"You see something you like?" Shaw said before she could stop herself.

Root smirked and went back into the other room. "I got you a fresh set of clothes too," she said over her shoulder.

*

Shaw wiled away the rest of the afternoon and early evening checking out and cleaning the guns Root had ‘acquired’ for them. It kept her hands busy but didn’t stop her mind from wandering. The motel room had no chairs, just the bed, a vanity table and a crappy TV that had nothing but static on its lonely three channels, so she was forced to sit on the bed (it was what she told herself anyway) with Root asleep beside her. She tried to ignore the other woman, pretend she wasn’t there, but her eyes kept wandering of their own accord until she snatched them back to the task at hand.

She must have fallen asleep herself at some point, because the next thing she knew, she felt the sensation of someone watching her, a gut instinct more than anything, and her eyes flew open, her hand going tight around a warm throat.

Root let out a small gasp, her eyes going wide, but Shaw suspected it was less from surprise and more from unexpected pleasure. Shaw loosened her grip when her brain caught up with her and she realised that there wasn’t a threat.

“I’m not used to waking up with someone in bed with me,” Shaw explained and wondered why she had yet to move, why she didn’t get as far away from Root as possible like all her instincts were telling her to.

“Has it really been that long since you got laid?” Root asked teasingly. “No wonder you’re so grouchy.”

Shaw gritted her teeth. “No,” she said. Which was a lie, but Root didn’t need to know that. Shaw usually just had sex then got the fuck out of there. No mess, no fuss and it suited her just fine. “I don’t do that waking up together shit,” she added into the silence.

“You’re missing out, Sameen,” said Root, a small smiling playing at her lips. “Morning after sex can be exhilarating.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Shaw and finally let go of the other woman. She moved off the bed and started packing up the guns she had been cleaning. One went into the waistband of her jeans, fully loaded and she took a couple of spare clips as well, just in case. She wasn’t expecting trouble, but Shaw always prided herself on being prepared for anything. And with Root involved – _anything_ was a possibility.

*

They moved around, staying under the radar and never staying in the same place twice. So far, they had managed to stay out of trouble and Root's little stash of guns hadn't been needed. But Shaw was getting restless; she didn't do hiding and lying low very well.

Shaw took over the driving and they kept to their plan of not knowing where they were going, trading one dingy motel room for another. They always shared a room, either a twin or a double, whatever they could get and Root managed to behave herself. Shaw preferred it that way, them sticking together. She could keep an eye on the other woman and if they needed to make a quick getaway it would be easier.

They had been on the run for about a week, somewhere in Wyoming, when Shaw noticed that Root had started to withdraw into herself. It was the lack of innuendos and the absence of flirting with her constantly that finally made Shaw twig that something was wrong. She didn't ask, but Shaw suspected it was something to do with the Machine and whatever weird dependency Root had developed with it. The Machine still wasn't talking, but Shaw doubted it had stopped watching.

They only time they didn’t spend together was when one of them went out for supplies. Shaw was returning after getting them dinner from the burger joint across the street when she found Root in their room, typing away on a laptop that Shaw had never seen before.

"What are you doing?"

Root jumped and immediately stopped typing. Shaw walked over and slammed the lid down so fast that Root barely had time to move her hands away before her fingers got caught.

"Are you trying to lead Decima straight to us?" Shaw asked, her hand still resting on the laptop as she leaned down to look Root right in the eye.

"No, I'm trying to find the Machine," said Root steadily.

"Same thing," Shaw said before grabbing up the laptop and heading outside. She walked to their car and placed the computer just behind the back left tire and got into the vehicle, putting it into reverse. The sound of plastic crunching underneath the tires was oddly satisfying. When she was done, Shaw parked the car again and headed back inside, handing Root the broken pieces of computer wordlessly.

"Very mature, Sameen."

Shaw shrugged nonchalantly and vowed to make sure Root never went near a computer again. But at least she had the answer to one question that had been playing on her mind for weeks: how Samaritan had found Root in the first place. Not by chance or by accident, but because Root had been looking for the Machine, trying to contact it because it was giving her the cold shoulder.

Root didn't try to get her hands on another computer, but she had also stopped talking to Shaw. Shaw didn't mind, it was almost peaceful, made it easier for her to ignore the other woman.

And she definitely didn't miss the flirting.

But she did wonder when it became so easy for her to lie to herself.

*

They were still in Wyoming, but it was all the same to Shaw. Even the motels were starting to look the same. The same peeling wallpaper and patterned carpets that looked like they had been there since the seventies. And the truth was, she was bored. Really bored. She wanted to shoot something, hit something, do _anything_ that didn't involving driving across states and holing up in motel rooms waiting for the shit to hit the fan.

She had even stopped going out running, wary of leaving Root on her own and refusing to let the other woman out of her sight for more than a minute. If it bothered Root, she didn't say anything. Shaw was still receiving nothing but stony silence from the other woman. How long had it been now? About a week and Root had said nothing. Shaw tried not to worry about it, but her training in medical school and her time spent briefly on rotation in the psych ward told her that at some point, Root was going to snap.

Maybe it was about time anyway, Shaw thought. Root had been entirely too normal, too unlike the Root she had first met for so long, that Shaw wouldn't be surprised if she finally cracked and turned into that slightly unhinged hacker that Finch and Reese had always been so wary about. Shaw wouldn't mind that though. Crazy she could handle. She knew what to do with crazy. It involved a silencer and her handgun. This wall of silence, however... Shaw wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. The only response she had been able to come up with was to fight right back with her own muteness. So she had stopped trying to engage the other woman in conversation and instead let her wallow in self-pity or whatever the hell it was she was doing.

The only time Shaw ever got a moment alone to herself these days was when either one of them were in the bathroom. Root had a tendency to spend longer in the shower than anyone Shaw had ever met and it gave her time to think, made it easier for her to focus without the other woman's presence constantly in her line of sight. It was the only time Shaw allowed herself to lower her guard. She was still hyper aware of her surroundings, still had her gun within easy reach, but she allowed herself to indulge in her own self-pity without fear of Root seeing her doing it.

The medal was cool in her hands when she took it out of her jacket pocket, the metal still shiny despite its age. It didn't weigh much in her hand, but the memories it carried were long and many. Shaw still didn't get why it was in her possession, didn't understand why the girl had given it to her. It was a gesture of some sort, she supposed, or maybe the girl had been trying to get a reaction out of her, anything but the solemn indifference that Shaw always displayed.

The kid was wrong about her; Shaw knew that, she wasn't wired like other people. But she had hugged the kid (the first time in her life that Shaw had initiated something like that herself) and accepted the medal because she had wanted the kid to be right. Deep down, Sameen Shaw had wanted to feel something. But, as usual, couldn't. It was only ever anger or rage with her, nothing more, despite what the girl had believed. Shaw was capable of extremes, but that was pretty much it.

"What's that?"

Shaw almost jumped. She had been so far in her own head that she hadn't heard the shower go off, hadn't heard Root come out of the bathroom.

"Nothing," Shaw said, quickly trying to put the medal back into her jacket.

Root grabbed her wrist, stilling her. "An Order of Lenin?"

Shaw shrugged and pulled her hand free.

"This belongs to that Russian kid you and Reese saved, doesn't it?"

Shaw clenched her jaw. "Is there anything the Machine _didn't_ tell you about?"

Root shrugged and finished drying her wet hair with a towel. "Imagine that, Sameen Shaw getting attached to a ten year old girl."

Shaw's face darkened. "I just think the medal's cool."

Root smirked and moved to sit on her own bed.

"Is she safe?" Shaw asked suddenly, purposefully not looking at the other woman. "Did the Machine at least tell you that much before it stopped talking to you?"

"As long as Decima think you and Harold are dead... yes."

"And if they don't?"

"Then the Machine will contact Detective Fusco," said Root.

"That's not exactly comforting," Shaw replied. She knew Fusco would do his best if it came to it, but he was one cop and Decima had a whole army of thugs and their own all seeing supercomputer. There was only so much he could do if Decima decided to target the girl to get to them.

Shaw took one last long look at the medal before putting it away.

"You should go out for a run," said Root after a while.

"Why?" asked Shaw, turning to face the other woman.

Root stared pointedly at Shaw's knee which was currently bouncing up and down as Shaw jiggled it restlessly. She immediately stopped what she was doing, but the urge to move was still there.

"You could do with the exercise," Root added after a beat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shaw asked with a frown.

Root shrugged, folding up her used towel neatly. "Just that you're putting on a few pounds."

Shaw's frown turned into a scowl. "I am not." But now that she thought about it, her pants were starting to feel a little tight now that she wasn't exercising on a regular basis. No bad guys to chase down or beat the crap out of. "I'm not leaving you alone," Shaw said by way of explanation.

"Still don't trust me?" Root said quietly.

"To not do something stupid?" said Shaw. "No."

Root rolled her eyes.

"So unless you have something, or someone, for me to punch," Shaw continued, "it looks like I'm staying put."

"Okay," Root said standing up. "Punch me."

"What?" said Shaw incredulously.

"Punch me," Root repeated. "Don't pretend you don't want to."

Shaw couldn't argue that point and her fists clenched in anticipation. "I'm not going to punch you, Root," Shaw said steadily.

"Why? It's not like you haven't before."

"That was different," said Shaw but couldn't articulate why. It just was. They both had come a long way since then, and no matter how much Root still got on her nerves, punching her for no reason just didn't feel right.

"Okay, fine," said Root, “why don't we spar then?"

Shaw shot her a quizzical look. " _You_ know how to spar?"

"No," said Root, "but you could teach me."

"And why would I want to do that?" Shaw asked.

Root shrugged. "I don't know. It might let out some of the passive aggressive anger you've got going on."

"You can talk," Shaw said. "You're the one that hasn't spoken to me for almost a week."

"Yes," said Root sarcastically, "because you've been _so_ chatty."

Shaw was starting to regret not punching Root in the face after all. But when she thought about it, maybe showing Root a few moves wasn’t such a bad idea. The other woman had never displayed any hand to hand combat skills, and what with Root’s tendency to fall into all kinds of trouble, learning how to defend herself without having to rely on a gun or a Taser being within easy reach could only be a good thing.

“Okay, fine,” said Shaw eventually. “I’ll train you.”

Root smiled widely, all hints of any sarcasm or previous hostility after the laptop incident was gone.

They repositioned the beds against the far wall to give themselves more space and, luckily, this particular motel room was bigger than most they had occupied over the past couple of weeks.

“Okay,” said Shaw when they were ready to get started. “First things first - balance.”

“Balance?” said Root.

“Keep your feet apart, about shoulder-width.”

Root adjusted her stance and Shaw nodded when she glanced up to check if she was doing it right.

“Good,” said Shaw. “Now, make sure your arms are up – we wouldn’t want to damage that pretty little face of yours.”

Root smirked and lifted her arms up, fists clenched.

“Make sure to tuck your elbows in close,” Shaw added. Root adjusted slightly, but her stance was still kind of off. Shaw moved closer, nudging her feet further apart marginally with her foot and pushing Root’s elbows in closer to her body until Shaw was satisfied.

“Okay,” said Shaw, taking a step back. “When I try to punch you… stop me.”

“How?” asked Root, but Shaw was already moving and her fist went right past Root’s defences, hitting her hard enough in the corner of the mouth to draw blood.

Root stumbled back slightly but managed to stay on her feet. She lifted her thumb up to wipe the blood off her chin and glanced at it briefly before turning her attention back to Shaw.

“Clearly you did want to punch me after all,” said Root.

Shaw shrugged. “That one was for the laptop.”

Root moved back into position, her stance perfect, and this time when Shaw moved to punch her, Root saw it coming and managed to block her fist. The move was sloppy, but it was a start.

*

That became their new routine. They’d train for a few hours each day; either in the morning before they headed off to a new town, or at night when neither of them could sleep. It was a good way to pass the time and Root was starting to get pretty good. Shaw didn’t know how well she’d match up against a real attacker, but the basics were there.

Shaw was in the middle of teaching her a particularly tricky move that involved pinning someone down as they came at you from the front. They had been at it for two hours and it wasn’t going well.

“You suck at this,” Shaw said in frustration after Root screwed up the move for the tenth time in a row. “What’s with you tonight?”

Root shrugged. “I can’t help but get easily distractedly when my teacher is so damn sexy.”

Shaw’s eyes narrowed. Root had toned down the flirting when they trained. It was the main reason why Shaw knew that she was taking the whole thing seriously. The look Root tossed her way when she tilted her head threw Shaw for a moment and she didn’t notice the step Root took to close the distant between them.

She noticed Root’s lips crashing against hers though.

Kissing Root sober was different from kissing Root drunk. It was like every inch of her skin was on fire even though only their lips were touching. Shaw reached out her hand to pull Root closer, to deepen the kiss before she could think herself out of it by listing all the reasons why this was a bad idea. But the next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back, Root pinning her arms down on either side of her as she straddled her waist, a grin spread widely across her face.

“That was cheating,” Shaw scolded. She tried to sit up, but Root wouldn’t let her.

“Just using the weapons I had to hand,” said Root smugly. “Isn’t that what you taught me?”

Shaw grunted. “That isn’t exactly what I meant.”

“How does it feel to have your ass handed to you by an amateur?” Root asked.

“Fuck you,” Shaw said but there was no malice in her voice.

“Go on then,” Root murmured, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she stared hard at Shaw.

Shaw swallowed slightly and tried to ignore the arousal thrumming through her entire body. She would never, _ever_ admit it out loud, but she kind of liked the way Root had her pinned down like this. The thrill of not knowing what was going to happen next, of not being in control was something Shaw wasn’t used to. Usually, she took the lead, she dominated the situation, and being under Root’s control like this was getting her off on more ways than she’d care to admit.

And this time, she didn’t have alcohol or tasing or anything as an excuse. She just had Root, leaning over her, giving her _that_ look that was both smug and knowing and too entirely truthful for Shaw’s liking. She wanted to wipe that look off the other woman’s face, and because her arms were currently out of commission, she did the only thing she could think of.

Shaw lifted her head up, capturing Root’s lips. It was just as electrifying as the last one, and Shaw bit her bottom lip, tugging the other woman closer. Root’s grip on her arms loosened and Shaw seized the opportunity.

This was the part where she should have ended things right there. Should have put a stop to something that never should have started in the first place, but she didn’t. Instead, one hand threaded its way through Root’s hair, the other inching underneath the waistband of Root’s sweat pants.

Root let out a small moan when Shaw’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of her ass and Shaw pulled her closer until they were flush against each other. They were both soaked with sweat from the workout, and Shaw desperately wanted to get both their shirts off, get to the skin beneath and explore every inch of Root’s body with her tongue and her teeth.

Shaw wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to wanting someone so badly that she wanted to take her time, make it last. Usually, her MO was a quick fuck and it was over before she had to think about it. But being with Root, like this, was nothing Shaw had ever experienced before.

That was probably why there was a small voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like Finch) telling her to _stop right now_ whilst she still could.

As if in answer to the Finch-like voice in her head, the motel room phone started ringing and both women froze.

They broke apart, Shaw’s hand moving from underneath Root’s waistband to rest on her hip.

“Who-” Shaw began, but clarity was already dawning on Root’s face and she was up and reaching for the phone before Shaw could even blink.

Shaw followed her wordlessly, ignoring how unsteady she felt, not to mention frustrated at being so rudely interrupted. She tilted her head close to Root’s so they could both listen to the voice on the other end of the phone and Shaw wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear the ever familiar indifferent voice reciting two numbers and two addresses to go with them.

The call ended and Root’s hands had started shaking so much that Shaw had to take the handset from her to place it back into its cradle.

“Reese and Finch?” Shaw assumed, watching Root carefully.

Root nodded. “Probably,” she said distantly, as if she were only half there, as if her head was somewhere else entirely.

“Hey,” said Shaw softly, “you okay?”

Root didn’t hear her. Shaw placed a hand on her arm to turn the other woman around to face her and the physical contact seemed to snap Root out of it.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Root said, but her hands were still trembling slightly.

“That the first time you’ve spoken to the Machine in over six months?” Shaw asked.

Root nodded slightly. “Wasn’t much of a conversation though,” she said, sounding disappointed.

Shaw shrugged, not really knowing what to say. She still didn’t get Root’s obsession with the Machine, just knew that it mattered to her and was pissed off that the Machine had given them nothing more than a vague number as if Finch and Reese were nothing more than any old irrelevant.

“We need to go,” said Root, straightening up slightly.

“Yeah,” Shaw agreed, “but where first?”

Root shook her head. “We need to go _separately._ ”

“No way,” said Shaw, shaking her head. “That’s a bad idea.”

“If we go together, we won’t get to them both in time.”

“Then we go after Finch,” said Shaw. “Reese can take care of himself.”

“We don’t know which one _is_ Finch,” Root pointed out.

“We’re not splitting up,” Shaw said firmly. What she really wanted to say was, _you’re not going alone_ , but she didn’t like the way it sounded in her head, like it revealed entirely too much, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Shaw,” said Root quietly, “we don’t have a choice.” Root stepped closer, resting both of her hands on each of Shaw’s shoulders. They had stopped trembling, Shaw noticed. She also noticed the weak smile Root was trying to display and knew it was all an act.

“Besides,” Root added, “what do you think we did all that training for?”

“The Machine’s not going to be there to tell you what to do and neither am I,” Shaw said.

“I can take care of myself,” Root said defiantly.

“You sure about that?” Shaw asked her carefully.

“Careful, Sameen,” Root said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me.”

“I am worried about you,” Shaw said. It took her a moment to realise what she had just come out of her mouth, and Root stiffened slightly, giving her an odd look as Shaw diverted her eyes and cleared her throat. _That_ wasn’t something she had ever intended on saying out loud, but now it was there, out in the open, it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.  It was the most honest thing that either one of them had ever said and it scared the shit out of her. And Shaw _never_ got scared. That alone was worrying.

“Sameen,” Root said softly, any sarcasm she had been trying to hold on to was gone and she took a step closer.

“Fine,” Shaw snapped before Root could say anything to the heap of a mess Shaw had just lain out between them. “We split up, we find the guys… then what?”

“I’m not sure,” Root admitted, “but I have an idea.”

Root didn’t explain any further than that and Shaw didn’t ask. She didn’t like it, any of it, but she figured they didn’t have much of choice. They had no right to sacrifice one number for the other. It did make her wonder though… why now? And why both Reese and Finch at the same time? How had Samaritan found them? Shaw had her own ideas about that but decided to keep them to herself.

“Okay.” Shaw nodded determinedly. “Pick a number.”


	5. Chapter 5

Shaw quickly packed up their meagre belongings and they were ready to leave sooner than she would have liked. Root gave her enough cash to last a week and a small arsenal of guns lethal enough to take on a small army.

Shaw still wasn't happy about them splitting up, but didn't see how they had all that much of a choice in the matter. The Machine had given them both numbers at the same time for a reason, and although Shaw wasn't inclined to trust an artificial intelligence, she _did_ trust Root.

They both agreed that it was a bad idea to stay in contact; Samaritan still had eyes and ears everywhere and if Decima were ready to take out Finch and Reese, Shaw figured it would be better if Decima didn't see them coming to the rescue.

When they were finally ready to leave, when Shaw couldn't think of an excuse to put it off any longer, they parted. Neither of them said anything, and Root turned around first with a determined look on her face. Shaw watched her walk away, musing on how much harder it felt than last time, when there was still hope and not all had yet been lost. This time though, Shaw wasn't so sure what hope even meant any more. Something akin to dread sat heavily in her stomach and she couldn't see a way for them all to survive this.

Part of her had wanted to call out to Root right then and there, skip this town and leave Reese and Finch to their own devices. They could keep on running and doing that little dance they had going on between them and maybe Shaw could explore where that kiss would have went if the Machine didn’t have spectacularly bad timing...

It was an enticing thought, but Shaw would never be able to forgive herself if Reese and Finch died because she was too much of a coward to walk away from a woman who, ninety percent of the time, annoyed the hell out of her. Besides, Root would never disobey the Machine no matter how tempting the offer.

So Shaw let her go and set off to Phoenix to find her new number.

*

Shaw decided she didn't like Phoenix as soon as she crossed the city line. It was too bright and cheery, like it was trying too hard to fool everyone into thinking it was the hottest place to be.

She hadn't liked Chicago either. Shaw was definitely a New Yorker through and through. Maybe that was why the Machine had decided her cover identity would live in a small town, because it knew Shaw would be miserable in any other city that wasn’t the Big Apple. But then again, she had hated that small town too, so maybe she was giving the Machine too much credit, even if it was supposed to be an omnipotent, all seeing God.

Shaw had never believed that. When Reese had first told her about the Machine, she had considered it as just that - a machine with a job to do. It watched, it listened and it analysed data. And at the end, it spat out relevant and irrelevant numbers. It wasn't a person, it didn't hurt or cry or love.

That was what Shaw believed about the Machine.

Until the Machine started talking to Root.

Now, she couldn't be sure, but sometimes Shaw thought the Machine was more human than she was. It looked out for people, it had to in order to assess threats and produce numbers. But it also cared for them too - it cared about Harold and Root. Heck, it probably even cared about her as well, although she couldn't fathom why it would bother.

It was watching her now, she could feel it, and she wondered if Samaritan had eyes on her too, if it still considered her as a non-threat. Maybe her identity had been compromised too and there was an ambush waiting for her as soon as she reached the address the Machine had given her. But that was a dangerous thought, because it led to Root and the fact that Samaritan had found her weeks ago and almost certainly would have no problems finding her again as she went hunting for the other number.

Shaw pushed the thought out of her mind, made herself focus on the mission at hand. She had a job to do, a number to save and she couldn't afford any distractions.

The address was in a decent looking part of town filled with fancy looking apartment buildings and expensive cocktail bars. She couldn't imagine Reese living in a neighbourhood like this. Then again, she couldn't imagine herself living in a small town and tending a bar either.

Shaw parked her car and scanned the street. There was no obvious sign of Decima agents, but that didn't mean anything in her line of work. Obvious could get you killed. Shaw kept one hand on her gun, all her senses on high alert as she entered the apartment building. She kept the weapon hidden; the last thing she needed was to accidentally scare one of the residents and have the cops on her ass.

The number's apartment was on the top floor. Shaw took the deserted stairwell, her gun drawn even as she spied a security camera watching her slow ascent and wondered if Samaritan knew she was here. When she reached the top of the stairs, there was no ambush waiting, and the hallway was empty. There were three apartments on this floor and Shaw moved to the one she was interested in. The door was slightly ajar; the lock broken like someone had kicked it in. Shaw listened carefully but could hear nothing from within. Maybe Decima had already been and gone? She tried not to think about that and moved slowly inside, gun held out steady in front of her.

The apartment was a riot: toppled over furniture and glass ornaments that crunched under her feet. It would have been a nice place if it didn't look like someone had tried to rob it.

Shaw made her way over to the only piece of furniture still standing upright; a small table with a teapot sitting on top of it with one lonely cup and saucer. Shaw lifted up the half empty cup and sniffed. Sencha green tea...

Finch.

It was still warm, so who ever done this place over was here not that long ago.

Shaw heard a growl and flipped around, ready to pull the trigger. But it was only Bear. Shaw smiled as he bounded towards her and if she wasn't steady on her feet, he would have knocked her over in his enthusiasm. His muzzle was stained red with blood and she spotted strings of flesh between his teeth.

"Whose blood is that, huh?" she asked, scratching behind his ears. He panted and, as if in answer, padded through to the other room. She followed him to find him standing over the lifeless body of a Decima agent, his throat torn out.

"Good boy," Shaw said, rewarding Bear with a pat on the head. She wondered if Decima were that stupid to send only the one guy after Finch. Or maybe the rest of them went after Reese... She pushed that thought away and tried not think of Reese and Root and the possible trouble they were in.

Shaw heard movement behind her, but when Bear didn't react she knew it wasn't a threat. She turned around to find Harold Finch staring at her blankly, still dressed in his customary three piece suit despite being in hiding. He held a poker iron in one hand, and it was the first time Shaw had seen him with anything even resembling a weapon. It didn’t suit him.

"Miss Shaw?" he said dumbfounded. He looked pale as a sheet and she quickly diagnosed him as being in shock. If she didn't snap him out of it soon, he'd be useless.

Finch looked somewhere behind her to her left, his eyes widening. She didn't need to think about it; instinct had her turning on her heel, finger squeezing the trigger. Damn, it was good to be shooting people again.  The Decima agent was down before she had fully seen him and she made sure to kick his gun out of reach, although she was pretty sure he wouldn't be doing much of anything, not with the blood gushing out of his chest.

Bear had started barking wildly and Finch patted his head gently to settle him down.

"We need to go," Shaw said, checking the windows. She couldn't see very much from this vantage point, but she had no doubt that Samaritan had sent more Decima agents.

Finch quickly tied Bear to a leash and Shaw suppressed a smile when he placed a black fedora on top his head - even when bad guys were trying to kill him, Finch still dressed to the nines.

Shaw led them down the stairwell - once again it was deserted, but she still looked down to check for hostiles. Their route remained clear and they made it outside into the bright Phoenix sun.

Shaw checked up and down the street; it was clear but she swore under her breath when she reached her car. Someone had slashed both front tires. Decima were thorough, she'd give them that.

"We're gonna to need a new ride," Shaw stated.

Harold nodded and glanced wearily when she stepped out into the middle of the road, gun drawn on the oncoming traffic. A blue SUV braked sharply to a stop, inches away from hitting Shaw. The woman in the car screamed and hastily got out of the vehicle when she spotted Shaw’s gun.

"You're gonna need to drive," Shaw said as a black sedan sped around the corner towards them. Shaw started firing; clipping the front tire and sending the car skidding.

Harold didn't need any more prompting. He got Bear into the back seat and himself in the front quicker than she would have thought he was capable of and had them halfway down the street before the next lot of Decima forces were on them.

Shaw rolled down her window and started firing until her clip was empty. Rounds went flying wildly from the chasing car; shattering the back window and setting Bear off on another round of barking.

"We need to get out of the city," Harold said, his voice strained as he tried to keep his head low.

Shaw silently agreed but there was no point leaving the city if they were still being followed.

Shaw quickly changed magazines, taking careful aim she managed to hit the tire of the sedan. It skidded wildly, the driver losing control, hitting the edge of the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians and causing the car to flip over. It slid along behind them, sparks flying as the metal roof skidded across the ground. Thick, black smoke drifted lazily into the air as the engine caught on fire.

“As much as I do appreciate the rescue, Miss Shaw,” Finch said anxiously, “but do you think you could avoid destroying half the city in the process?”

Shaw smiled, enjoying the carnage left behind in her wake. “Just shut up and drive, Harold.”

*

Shaw took over the driving as soon as they were out of the city and swapped cars. Harold was more than willing to hand over the wheel. He looked like he was still in shock, but Shaw thought he would be okay.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins and she had to make a conscious effort to stay under the speed limit. It looked like Decima was off their backs for now, but she made sure her gun was within easy reach, fresh clip ready to go just in case.

After two hours, when she was sure they were as safe as they could be considering what they were up against, Shaw rolled the car to a stop in the parking lot of a gas station slash diner off the side of the road.

"I need to eat," she said when Harold looked at her questioningly. Shooting people always left her hungry. That coupled with the driving for hours before, and after, rescuing Harold had left her feeling exhausted. She needed an energy boost if they were to keep going.

Finch just nodded slightly at her. He had said very little in the car, just listened carefully as she filled him in on what she had been up to the past few months; how Samaritan had found Root first and the Machine had contacted Shaw with her number. Shaw left out the finer details of their time on the run. Finch didn't need to know about that kiss – which had happened less than a day ago, Shaw struggled to believe – no, that knowledge was just for her.

Besides, she didn't think he'd approve and she didn't really want to see that look on his face. Shaw was never one to adhere to other people’s opinions, she didn't care what other people thought of her, but with Finch she toed the line. It wasn't just because he was her boss; Finch was her moral compass, the person who taught her that there was a better way than killing. She knew he'd be concerned about this thing with Root. Whatever that thing was, because she couldn't really deny it any more, there definitely was a _thing_ going on between them, had been even before Samaritan came online.

The diner was small. Shaw led them to a booth in the back where they'd get a modicum of privacy to talk. They'd still have to be careful of what they said though - the diner had a security camera in the corner behind the counter. Shaw eyed it warily, wondering if it was real or just for show.

The place wasn't entirely empty, a few truckers sat at the counter and a couple of other booths were filled. But, like them, these folks were just passing through. Shaw and Finch were just another couple of faceless customers and as soon as they left, they'd be forgotten.

Shaw ordered coffee and something to eat. Harold, not a coffee drinker, just asked for a glass of water. She doubted the place had his green tea anyway.

"You should eat something," Shaw said as their waitress moved off.

Harold just shook his head and glanced out of the window towards their stolen car where Bear was locked up in the back seat. He was still covered in blood, so they had thought it best to leave him there, out of sight.

"So," said Harold, "what’s the plan, Miss Shaw?"

She shrugged. Run. Hide. Same old.

Although, this time, life on the run probably wouldn't be nearly as entertaining. She didn't enjoy the thought of sharing motel rooms with Finch, living in each other’s pockets. Shaw didn't want to run and hide any more. She wanted to hit Decima head on, right where it hurt. Offence was always the best defence in her book. It was time to start fighting back properly. Except how do you fight back when the bad guys always have the upper hand?

Their waitress returned, placing Shaw's meal in front of her and topping up her coffee.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Finch shook his head, his nose scrunching up in distaste as Shaw tucked into her double cheeseburger and chilli fries. She moaned around the first bite, and already felt her energy levels spike when the first taste hit her senses.

Harold continued to stare at her in disgust, sipping at his water delicately.

"What?" Shaw said through a mouthful of food.

"Do you have any idea how much cholesterol is on that plate?"

"Do I look like I care?"

Finch rolled his eyes and glanced around the diner, deliberately avoiding watching her eat. He had his back to the place, so he couldn't see much. Shaw, on the other hand, had full view of the diner, the front door, and she already had two other exits assessed before she had even sat down.

Always best to be prepared.

Their getaway had been clean, but she didn't think Samaritan would lose them for long, not this time. It brought her back to that nagging thought, the one that had been circling in her head, waiting to pounce, since she first rescued Root in Chicago. How exactly had Samaritan found their aliases? Root's she had chalked up the hacker's carelessness at trying to contact the Machine, but with Reese and Finch both now compromised, it made her wonder...

"Hey, Finch?" Shaw said lowly. His eyes snapped back to her curiously as she carefully placed her burger back on the plate.  "Do you think..." she trailed off. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

"Think what, Miss Shaw?"

"Do you think the Machine could have been compromised?" she asked. He looked at her with mild surprise, but he didn't discount her theory.

"Yes," said Finch, "the thought had crossed my mind. It would explain how Samaritan found us."

"Yeah," said Shaw after awhile. "Shit."

"Indeed," said Finch.

Shaw picked up her burger again, but her appetite was lost. She hadn't brought up her theory about the Machine with Root, wasn't sure how well the other woman would take it. But it also explained why the Machine had shut her out, hadn't contacted Root for months.

"But it still sent us your number," Shaw said suddenly, hopefully.

"Yes. I imagine Samaritan has somehow managed to initiate a DOS attack and infiltrate the Machine’s memory core. The Machine itself is still functioning, with Samaritan piggy backing alongside it. "

"Yeah," said Shaw. "I'm just gonna pretend I understood that."

Finch didn't say anything else. Her eyes drifted outside; the highway was quiet, but they'd already been here for half an hour and she didn't like staying in the one place for too long. It was time to move. She just didn't know _where_.

Some of the truckers started to leave, and soon it was just her and Finch, the other two occupied booths and their lone waitress. She looked bored standing behind the counter, picking at her nails. She was skinny, all sharp bones and edges, like you could get cut just touching her. She was tall too, and Shaw remembered the way she had towered over her as she poured the coffee. She reminded Shaw of Root, just not as elegant in the way she moved. Shaw shook her head, wondering why her thoughts had yet again turned to the woman she had spent the last month with, the woman who annoyed the hell out of her on a regular basis, yet who also intrigued and challenged Shaw in a way that she never thought possible.

Shaw wasn't used to this, having her mind so focused on one person who wasn't a target or a mission. She didn't _do_ this sort of stuff. She had never wanted to. And now all she could think about was Root and that kiss and when the hell she was going to get the opportunity to do it again.

They hadn't talked about it. There hadn't been time. Talking wasn't their style anyway, and definitely wasn't Shaw's.

She could still remember the feel of Root on top of her, the taste of her lips and the way her hair had felt soft in Shaw's grip. She wanted more of it, and the thought, the _desire_ , was so startlingly strong that Shaw slammed her coffee mug back down on the table so quickly because she thought she was going to drop it.

Harold looked at her curiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Shaw snapped. "We should go."

"But you haven't finished your meal," Harold pointed out.

"I'm not hungry."

The waitress who reminded her of Root but didn't actually look anything like the hacker, moved from her perch to answer the phone.

"Okay," said Harold. He pulled out his wallet to pay the bill, always the chivalrous gentlemen.

"Uh," the waitress called out to the diner. "Is there a Mary Woods here?"

Shaw pulled on her jacket and it took her a moment to register what the waitress had said. _Mary Woods…_

She rushed over to the waitress and snatched the phone out of her hand. "Hello?"

A voice recited an address through the phone, but it wasn't the Machine like she had been expecting.

"Root?"

*

Root had sounded fine on the phone, and she had assured Shaw that both she and Reese were fine, but Shaw started to wonder if they both had the same definition of the word "fine." She could sense Root's evading tactic from miles away, over the phone and even when she was exhausted. But Root ended the call quickly before Shaw could call her out on it, saying they had to move, that they _all_ had to move, there wasn't much time.

Shaw got nothing but dial tone after that and she slammed the phone down hard in frustration.

Harold raised an eyebrow at her questioningly but she didn't say anything until they were safely back in their stolen car, Bear barking at their return excitedly from the back seat.

They were heading for Nevada, somewhere in the middle of the desert. Root hadn't told her any more than that. It was a long drive, and the only times they stopped to get more gas or let Bear out for a walk to relieve himself. They each took turns to drive whilst the other slept in the passenger seat. Shaw didn’t sleep much and would rather have driven the whole way there herself until Harold pointed out that not even she could shoot straight with her eyes drooping from lack of sleep.

Reese and Root had made it to the meeting point first, their car riddled with bullet holes and dusty from the drive.

John Reese was a sight for sore eyes, battered and bruised; he leaned sullenly against the car. He looked strange out of his usual suit, dressed instead in black jeans and a t-shirt. Shaw wondered briefly who his alias had been and if he had been as miserable as her, but her attention quickly turned to Root as she stepped out of the car. She looked okay; her left hand was bandaged and there was a nasty looking cut next to her right eye. She smirked as Shaw moved towards her.

"You two kids behaving?" Shaw asked and it was hard to keep the smile off her face.

"Now where would the fun in that be?" Root said shrewdly.

Reese just grunted, his attention on Harold as he struggled to get Bear out of the car.

"Finch, you okay?" Reese asked.

Harold smiled. "Miss Shaw got there just in time."

"Good," said Reese and pulled Finch into a bear hug so tight that it had the other man grunting as the air was pushed out of him.

"So," said Root, "did you miss me?"

"No," said Shaw, turning her face into a scowl.

"Liar." The truth of that one word was a little hard to swallow. Had they really only been apart for a matter of days? It felt like months since they had walked away from each other outside that motel in Wyoming and it concerned Shaw how comfortable, how familiar it was to have Root by her side. And how it had felt to be apart; like something was missing, the way her thoughts always seemed to circle back to Root, like that was where they belonged.

"What happened?" Shaw gestured to the cut on Root's forehead.

Root shrugged. "Decima. It's nothing," she added and sighed heavily in exasperation when Shaw turned her head for a closer look.

"It needs stitches," Shaw said.

"It’s fine," said Root even as she winced in pain when Shaw's fingers brushed close to the wound, lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"I'll fix it up later," Shaw said expecting more resistance from the other woman, but Root just smiled - the genuine one that Shaw only got to see on rare occasions. She liked that smile best of all.

"Miss Groves," said Harold by way of greeting once Reese finally released him. Shaw took a step back, not missing the way Reese's eyes darted between her and Root, like he knew a secret that Shaw hadn't even figured out herself yet.

"I trust this is the part where you explain what we are doing in the middle of the desert," Harold continued.

"Yeah,” said Shaw, “what _are_ we doing here?"

She looked between the former hacker and the former CIA agent. Reese shrugged, clearly not privy to a heads up, despite spending the last couple of days with Root.

"We're here," said Root smirking again, but Shaw noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time, "to take out Samaritan."


	6. Chapter 6

"We're here to take out Samaritan," said Root.

"Of course," said Finch as if it were obvious, as if what Root had just said had made perfect sense. As if Samaritan weren't some all-powerful, all-seeing machine out to kill them all.

"Care to share with the rest of us?" said Reese, looking between Root and Finch.

"I thought Samaritan had servers all over the world," said Shaw.

"They do," said Root.

"So how do you expect us to take them all out?" Reese asked.

"I don't," said Root. "We're going to use this." She held up a flash drive, innocuously small, but Root held it as though it were a bomb waiting to go off at the slightest bump.

"Is that what I think it is?" said Finch, his face going paler than when someone had been trying to kill him.

"It was always the back-up plan, Harold," said Root desolately.

"What was?" said Shaw, feeling her temper rising at being left out of the conversation.

"Miss Groves plans to destroy Samaritan with a virus," said Finch.

"Virus?" said Reese. "Like the one that Decima used to infect the Machine a year ago?"

"Yes," said Root quietly, "only more lethal."

Shaw watched the other woman carefully, the way Root's usual frivolous demeanour was missing.

"Root," said Shaw, "what is it?"

Root's eyes slowly lifted up to meet hers, and Shaw didn't like what she saw there.

Defeat.

"Samaritan can be stopped," said Finch gravelly, "but it comes with a price."

That's when it all started to click into place for Shaw.

"The Machine," said Root. "We have to destroy the Machine too."

*

Shaw's theory about the Machine being compromised was true. Samaritan _had_ managed to infiltrate its systems and get access to their new identities and locations.

"She tried to keep us hidden for as long as possible," Root explained.

 _Not long enough_ , Shaw thought as she remembered that phone call with a number and an address in Chicago and the way those Decima thugs had cornered Root. _And not well enough_.

The Machine and Samaritan were connected. Upload the virus to the Machine and Samaritan should become infected right alongside it. It was as simple as that. Apparently.

"Don't we need the Machine's physical location for that?" Shaw asked.

"We have it," said Root and gestured somewhere to her left, right in the middle of the desert.

"Isn't Area 51 in that direction?" asked Reese, a little sceptically.

"You want us to break into Area 51?" Shaw asked in disbelief, although there was a bit of excitement in her voice too. She was never one to back down from a challenge, even with the odds stacked against her.

Root rolled her eyes. "No, not Area 51," she said with mild exasperation. "There's an underground military facility ten miles north of here. That's where She is."

Root's eyes took on a glazed look as she stared into the distance, as if she could actually see the Machine. Shaw wondered how Root was holding it together, how well she was taking this. And if, when it came to it, she could go through with actually killing the Machine to stop Samaritan.

Shaw suddenly wished that the guys weren't there, that it was just her and Root, like it had been for the past month. Then maybe she would get a straight answer. Maybe Root would let her guard down, stop hiding behind the confidence of the Machine and say how she really felt.

Shaw couldn't understand it, what it must be like to have a voice talking in your head for so long, guiding you, almost taking away that option of free will. She couldn't imagine what Root was going through, couldn't predict what she was thinking and it worried Shaw that she couldn't know for sure if Root would see this thing through. The uncertainty of that, that their entire mission rested in the hands of a woman who Shaw wasn't entirely sure was all there. How much of Root would be left if you took away the Machine? This co-dependency Root had developed with the Machine could end up backfiring on them all if Root couldn't bring herself to make the sacrifice.

"This is the only way?" Shaw asked quietly, just to be clear, just to be sure that they were doing the right thing. Root had her back to her and Shaw kept her distance. Still that gap between them that she wasn't sure how to cross.

"Yes," said Root distantly. "This was always the only way. We were only delaying the inevitable."

"Root-"

"We should get going," Root said quickly. When she turned around, she kept her eyes down low, but Shaw could see the pain in them even as the other woman tried to hide it. It made Shaw want to break something. Tear down Samaritan and Decima with her bare hands so Root didn't have to make this decision.

"I got you a present," Root said with forced enthusiasm.

 _Okay_ , Shaw thought, _I'll play. For now_. And she let Root pretend everything was fine.

Root popped the trunk of her car, pulled out a weapon and handed it to Shaw.

"The new Remington R51… Nice," said Shaw, whistling in appreciation. It was small and light and fit perfectly into her hand. Shaw couldn't wait to take it out for a test ride.

Root smirked. "Thought you might like it."

"Don't I get one?" Reese asked, eyeing Shaw's new toy with a hint of jealously.

Root rolled her eyes, but handed him a new pistol as well. "Don't use all the bullets at once."

Reese grunted and placed the pistol in the waistband of his jeans after he'd checked its clip and clicked on the safety.

"What is it with you three and guns?" Harold asked in dismay as Root acquired her own arsenal from the trunk and tossed Shaw a few extra clips.

"Always best to be prepared, Finch," Reese said.

"Besides," Shaw added, "shooting things is fun."

Harold looked like he didn't want to believe her.

*

Root drove them the ten miles to the secret government facility where the Machine was hidden. Shaw wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the crumbling shack that Root parked them beside wasn't it.

" _That's_ our secret underground facility?" Reese asked. "Doesn't look very secure…"

"Appearances can be deceiving, John," said Root. "You should know that by now."

Reese grunted and they all followed Root cautiously into the shack. It was dusty and stale inside, bars of sunlight fluttered through the cracks in the wooden walls. Root kicked aside some straw and dirt, revealing a trap door built into the floor. She and Reese pulled it open and it creaked loudly into the anticipation filled silence.

"Going down?" Root said as Shaw pointed a flashlight into the hole. The beam didn't quite penetrate the darkness, and she couldn't quite see down to the bottom. Had to be a hundred feet at least, she guessed. There was a spiralling metal staircase that seemed to go on forever.

"There's a security door at the bottom," Root explained. "Four pin access code."

"For a secret underground facility," said Shaw as she watched Reese slowly descend first, "I can't say I'm impressed."

"Well, it is a _secret_ , Shaw," said Root, following Reese down. "If they had a high wire fence surrounding the place, then everyone would know it was here."

Shaw shrugged and gestured for Finch and Bear to go next. Finch looked a little nervous at the prospect, but he went anyway without comment. The Machine was his creation, the closest thing he had to a child, in a way. Shaw supposed the least he could do was be there for it in the end.

It didn't take long to reach the bottom and by the time Shaw's foot hit the last step, Root was already punching in the four pin code into the keypad by the side of the heavy metal security door.

"One guy watching the front," Root said.

Both Shaw and Reese raised their guns, but Root shook her head slightly as she opened the door. Shaw lowered her gun, but Reese kept his trained just over Root's right shoulder as they followed her through. Root was right: one guy on the front, his back to them. He turned around swiftly as they approached and Shaw lifted her gun again, but Root was already moving. Her leg lifted up to kick the gun out of his hand she grabbed his wrist; pulling his arm up behind him tight as her other arm went around his neck faster than the guy could blink.

"Ooh, nice move," Shaw muttered under her breath as she watched Root lead the guy over to another metal door. This one had a retinal scanner at the side instead of a keypad.

"You sound impressed, Miss Shaw," said Harold from behind her.

"I should be," she replied, glancing at him over her shoulder before returning her attention to the other three. "I taught her it."

"I'm going to need you conscious for the retinal scan," Root muttered in the guard's ear. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a fuss."

The guy grunted, realising his defeat when Reese stepped forward with his gun trained between his eyes. "I'd do what she says, if I were you."

Root pushed the guy over to the scanner and he didn't resist as it took a scan of his retina. When the door clicked open, Root let him go and whacked him over the back of the head with the butt if her gun. He slumped to floor in a heavy heap, unconscious.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" asked Finch.

"Would you rather I killed him?" said Root.

"What's on the other side?" Reese asked before Finch could open his mouth and start an argument.

"Empty corridor," said Root. She paused for a moment, head tilted slightly to the side where her cochlear implant was placed. "She says we need to split up."

"The compromised-by-Samaritan-Machine would like us to split up?" said Reese. He glanced at Shaw and she saw her concern mirrored in his eyes. The Machine wanted them to split up - again - and, like last time, Shaw felt with every bone in her body that this was a bad idea. Every instinct, all her training, was telling her that they should all stick together. But Root was already in the corridor, already acting on what the Machine was whispering in her ear. Shaw followed, sticking close to the other woman - she'd be damned if she let Root out of her sight this time. The cut on Root's forehead stood out raw and jagged under the harsh fluorescent light, serving as a reminder to Shaw that Root wasn't a machine. She was human, vulnerable, just like the rest of them.

Root smiled when she saw Shaw move closer - that real one again that had just a touch of disbelief, like she couldn't quite believe Shaw was really there.

"So where are we going?" Shaw said before Root could object.

"John," said Root, turning her attention to the former CIA agent. "There's a power source five floors down. Make sure they don't turn it off."

"What happens if they turn it off?" Reese asked.

"Then it will be much more difficult to upload this," said Root, waving the flash drive before securing it safely back in her pocket. "Take Harold - but be careful, security is crawling all over the place."

Reese nodded and motioned for Finch and Bear to follow him.

"So," said Shaw when Reese and Finch had disappeared around the corner. "Where are we going?"

"To find the Machine," said Root.

*

The corridors were endless twists and turns and they all looked the same to Shaw. But she thought she could find her way out in a hurry if it came to it. Root had given them all earpieces in the car, and Shaw checked in with the boys.

"Nothing yet," Reese's muffled voice filled her ear. "Just some boring grey hallways. You?"

"Same," Shaw replied.

Root held an arm out to still her.

"Hold that thought, Reese," Shaw said as Root indicated to a door on their right.

"The Machine's through here," Root said quietly, although Shaw didn't miss the hint of anticipation. Shaw hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. She remembered vividly the last time Root had went looking for the Machine, when Shaw had put a bullet in her shoulder. She would have put one between her eyes if it weren't for Harold stilling her hand.

Shaw made to go through first, but stopped when Root's hand rested on her forearm. Shaw had a glare ready to go, but it turned into a smirk when Root pulled out two guns.

"Compensating for something?" Shaw asked.

"It's always better with two," Root deadpanned and was through the door and firing before Shaw could react. Normally, a comment like that filled with Root's usual innuendo would have had Shaw scowling and itching to make the other woman bleed. But now - now Shaw found herself admiring the way the other woman barely broke a sweat as she took down the half a dozen guards before they had even realised they were under attack.

"Underestimating me again, Shaw?" Root said, turning back around as she holstered her weapons.

"Nope," said Shaw. "Just wondering when you're going to let me have a shot of my new toy."

"Don't worry, you'll get to have some fun shortly," said Root.

"I'd better," Shaw muttered but she didn't think Root heard her, her attention was moving away from Shaw and onto the object in the room that had required a six man security team.

"The Machine?" Shaw asked, watching as Root trailed a hand over a big black box that looked similar to the servers from the warehouse where Samaritan had been stored.

"Part of Her," Root said. Her voice had taken on that distant quality again and Shaw wondered if the other woman even realised she was still there.

"So where do we upload the virus?" Shaw asked.

"This way," Root said. "There's a computer terminal through here."

Shaw followed the other woman through the maze of servers, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. All of her senses were tingling; too many ways for bad guys to jump out at them. She stuck close to Root, ready for an ambush, prepared for anything.

"Here." Root paused next to the computer terminal. It looked just like any old PC to Shaw, but she suspected it was much more powerful than that when she conveyed her opinion to Root and received an exasperated scowl in return.

Shaw checked around the side of a server. They were clear for now and the position of the computer terminal allowed Root to stay out of sight as she worked.

"How long is this gonna take?" Shaw asked, feeling herself getting bored already. She _still_ hadn’t shot anyone with her new gun.

"It depends how fast I can get through Harold's firewalls."

"And you’re sure Samaritan can't see us?" Shaw asked. She had spied ten security cameras on their trek through the server room alone.

"She's keeping us hidden," was all Root said. Shaw opened her mouth to ask what that meant, but figured she wouldn’t understand the explanation even if Root did decide to give her one. Instead, she checked in with Reese.

"How's it going down there, guys?"

"Clear so far," Reese's tinny voice replied. "We've reached the generator."

"Keep your eyes open," she said.

"Thanks, Shaw," Reese said with mild sarcasm and she could tell he was rolling his eyes. "This isn't my first time out, you know."

Shaw chose not to dignify that with a response and instead turned her attention back to Root who had started to tap rapidly into the keyboard by the computer terminal with a look of intense concentration on her face. It was the first time in a long time, Shaw realised, that she had seen Root at work in her natural habit. It was fascinating; the way her fingers glided delicately over the keys, like the computer itself was a part of her, an extension of her being. Shaw wondered what it would be like to have those fingers trailing lazily down her body and she shivered slightly at the thought.

Roots fingers stilled suddenly and she looked up quickly, meeting Shaw's eyes before Shaw could even think to turn away.

"What?" said Root.

"What?" said Shaw and tried to ignore the way her voice had took on a life of its own - all soft and open, no hint of her usual toughness.

"Why are you watching me?" said Root slowly.

"I'm not," said Shaw even as she realised she was still doing just that. She cleared her throat and looked away, but it was hard to focus on something else and ignore the other woman in the room. The servers were definitely not as nice to look at.

"Oh, no," said Root abruptly and the rapid tapping got faster.

"What?" said Shaw moving to hover over the hacker's shoulder. She looked at the computer screen but it was all just strings of numbers to her. "What is it?"

"I think Samaritan has installed a packet filtering system into the Machine. It’s like it’s built a firewall within a firewall," Root said quickly, the panic clear in her eyes.

"Root, slow down," said Shaw, resting a hand on the other woman's shoulder without thinking. "I don't know what that means."

Root explained again, this time more slowly. Shaw still felt a little lost but it looked like the gears were starting to turn it Root's head. "I guess I could try recoding the virus to make it look like it’s information generated by the Machine. Samaritan might fall for it and let it through.”

"Okay, try that," said Shaw, still not having a clue what the other woman was talking about. "You can do this,” she said, projecting as much confidence into her voice as possible and hoping it would rub off on Root.

“What?" Shaw added when Root didn't move. Instead, Root glanced slightly at the hand that was still resting on her shoulder. Shaw snatched it away as if it burned and quickly made the pretence of scanning the room for hostiles as Root got back to work and tried to pretend she didn't feel awkward as hell.

_Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?_

Shaw had been acting like a love sick teenager ever since that stupid kiss. Never in her life had Shaw been so easily distracted by another person. Anything Root said or did seemed to send Shaw's hormones spiralling. It was ridiculous. It had to stop.

Shaw made herself focus on the task in hand. She blocked out everything to do with Root, ignored the sound of her typing, her breathing. The smell of her hair...

_Oh fuck._

Shaw groaned. This was bad. _Really_ bad.

Shaw clicked the earpiece in her left ear. "How's it going boys?" she asked, trying to keep herself occupied.

"The same as it was the last time you called," said Reese. "Getting jumpy there, Shaw?"

"No," she said sullenly and clicked off, ignoring the way Root smirked at her over the computer terminal as if she knew exactly what was going on in Shaw's head. For one paranoid moment, Shaw did wonder if that was the case. Could the Machine see that far, right into Shaw's mind? Shaw shook her head, dispersing the ridiculous thought even as she felt the cameras watching her closely.

She never used to be this paranoid. Not even when the ISA had been trying to kill her.

Shaw caught movement to her left. It could have just been the light reflecting off the servers, but her training told her to double check. Shaw peered around the corner, keeping most of her body out of sight.

Three guys coming from the left and packing a lot of heat.

"Root, whatever you are doing," said Shaw clicking the safety off her gun, "you’d better do it fast."

Shaw's instincts took over after that and she squeezed the trigger of her new gun, hitting her targets before they had even noticed she was there.

"Sweet," said Shaw glancing at her present from Root appreciatively. For such a small weapon, it was capable of a hell of a lot of damage.

"Focus, Sameen," Root called, not even glancing up from her computer screen. "She says there are six more to your right."

Shaw frowned but when she moved around to check behind the right side of the server she was currently hiding behind... Sure enough, six more guards.

"Where the fuck did those guys come from?" Shaw muttered and took them out. One of them got a shot off before taking cover and the bullet skimmed past Shaw's head, embedding into the server behind her. Sparks flew from it and the series of lights going down in columns went out.

"Hope you didn't need that," Shaw said and grinned when Root clenched her teeth in annoyance.

Shaw quickly returned her attention back to the security guards, emptying her clip and quickly replacing it. She counted two hostiles still standing as she was clicking the magazine into place, moving slightly from cover to get a better look. She didn't see the guy coming to her left until it was too late. He managed to get a round off, the bullet slamming into her arm, sending Shaw reeling backwards. Thankfully, there was a sturdy server behind her, and she managed to stay on her feet as pain flashed through her veins.

Shaw fired a few shots off blindly before assessing her injuries. Blood dripped steadily to the floor but it didn't look like the bullet had hit any major arteries. She didn't have time to wrap up the wound as more bullets whizzed past her head.

"Root," Shaw said through gritted teeth.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Root replied.

Shaw grunted and turned her focus back to the guys shooting at her. More of them had appeared and it was becoming quickly apparent that she was vastly outnumbered.

"Reese, gonna need a little help up here," she said, ducking to avoid another bullet as it passed dangerously close to the top of her head.

"Sorry, Shaw," Reese replied and she could hear the gunfire coming from his end over the earpiece. "We got problems of our own down here."

Shaw swore under her breath and took her anger out on two guards who had dared to blow their cover momentarily in order to get closer to her. They went down and didn't get back up. Shaw barely acknowledged them with a glance before she was taking aim and firing on three others. She took out her second gun and managed to drop four more before their fingers could even touch the trigger of their own weapons.

 _Okay_ , Shaw thought. _Maybe it is better with two._

She was running dangerously low on ammo and the gun in her left hand was slick with blood. Shaw tuned out the pain and quickly switched both weapon's empty clips with a fresh one.

"How's it going there, Shaw?" Root called from her safe perch behind the computer.

"Just fucking fantastic," Shaw said, trying not to let Root's calmness annoy her. Instead, she used it to focus herself and she took a deep breath, rounding the corner and firing the last of her ammo, making it count.

Bodies dropped around her until it was just Shaw and one other guy left standing.

"Don't," Shaw warned when he raised his gun.

She was quicker than him. But when Shaw pulled the trigger, it clicked empty and the gunfire that blared in her ears came from his gun. Shaw quickly dropped her spent weapons as she staggered backwards, her hand reaching for the combat knife strapped to her waist. It left her hand quicker than the guard could get another shot off, embedding in his chest and sending him flying backwards.

 _Should have worn a vest_ , Shaw thought smugly and then looked down.

"That makes two of us," she muttered as she watched the blood pour out of the bullet hole in her abdomen, just above her belly button.

Shaw slid to floor, leaning against one of the servers. She had been shot before more times than she'd care to count, and she knew from experience that gut wounds were always the worst. _And they hurt like hell_ , she thought as a pain burned through her, making her head spin.

She tried to put pressure on the wound, but her arms felt like lead as she tried to lift them and it was a half-assed effort as the blood continued to seep between her fingers. _Aorta_ , she thought. _The bullet's nicked the aorta_. Her medical training told her how much time she had left before she would bleed out. It wasn't long, and already she could feel all her energy disappearing, leaving her feeling cold and tired.

This was when normal people would start getting scared.

But Sameen Shaw wasn't normal and she just felt pissed.

Pissed off about dying underground in the middle of the desert as _Mary Fucking Woods_ because Sameen Shaw was "dead."

Well, she certainly was going to be soon...

Her eyes felt heavy and she struggled to keep them open. She was cold - dead cold - and she would have shivered if she had the energy. But her body couldn't even give her that much. And she thought she was going to die from the cold alone until she felt warm hands on her face, shaking her until she forced her eyes open with all the effort she had left and it was as if her eyelids were stuck down with glue.

"Root," she mumbled as the other woman's face came into focus. But her eyes quickly slid closed again.

"Shaw," said Root, her voice distant but Shaw could hear the panic there anyway like the loudest voice in a crowd that you can always pick out, even when the stadium is full and everyone is cheering the Quarterback on as he goes for the final touchdown.

" _Sameen._ " That panic again. Shaw wanted to tell her it was okay, that all the bad guys were dead and it was just them and the Machine. But no - the Machine was dead too, wasn't it? _Is it?_

"Did it..." Shaw began, but her lips had gone numb and it was difficult to speak. Difficult to _breathe_.

"Shaw, _wake up_!" Root said sharply.

Shaw snapped her eyes open, but it was hard. "Hurts..." she mumbled.

"I know," Root said as if she were the one in pain. Her fingers caressed Shaw's cheek, the only thing apart from the pain that Shaw could even feel.

"Dying..."

"No," Root said fiercely. "Stay with me."

"Did it work?" Shaw asked.

Root looked at her blankly for a moment before nodding. "I uploaded the virus."

"Good," Shaw muttered, her eyes sliding shut. She would have hated to have died for nothing.

She could hear Root call her name again - her first name, the name Shaw didn't let anyone else call her by if she could help it - but it was a distant echo, like Root was very far away. She tried to grab on to her, tell her not to go, but she couldn't move and she could feel Root slipping away from her.

She needed to tell her something, but she couldn't think what. She couldn't get her brain to focus long enough to make a coherent thought. Maybe it would be useful to have an all-knowing voice in your head after all, then you'd never forget anything.

The Machine. That was it.

She had wanted to tell Root something about the Machine.

But she couldn't remember.

Couldn't remember anything before the pain had flared in her gut, sending fire through her entire body.

Another voice.

It was loud and rumbled in her ear.

She thought, _the Machine_.

But no, this voice was too far away, too deep and too familiar.

Reese.

Reese and Finch. And she thought she could hear Bear too, barking wildly before the darkness took her.


	7. Interlude

_Initializing..._

_...Searching..._

_…Admin found... Initiating contact...._

_...unable to contact..._

 

"Hurry, Mr Reese," Harold said as he limped after John, Bear trailing behind him still on his leash. Still barking madly. Harold tried to quieten him, but the smell of blood was too much for the dog and he snarled every time Harold tugged harder on his leash.

They weren't going to make it. They hadn't been shot at as they made their escape, but they weren't going to make it. Not all of them, anyway, Harold thought as he glanced at Shaw in Reese's arms as he carried her up the spiralling staircase to the desert above. She looked pale - too pale - and for one horrifying moment, Harold thought she might already be dead.

Harold glanced behind him at Root taking up the rear. She didn't look much better: covered in Shaw's blood, her hands shaking... But Harold had no doubt they'd be steady if they crossed paths with someone. Root looked ready to murder.

It took them forever to reach the top - Reese weighed down by Shaw in his arms, Harold struggling along with Bear, his limp more prominent than ever. He ignored the discomfort, the pain, and pushed himself forwards until they reached the top.

The shack was as empty as they had left it and Reese quickly headed to their car.

"She needs blood," Reese said and watched as Root wordlessly took a med kit from the trunk.

"She needs a hospital," Harold said. _She needs the Machine_ , he thought and looked to Root before he remembered that they had just incapacitated the Machine. _What a time to get shot, Miss Shaw._

Reese put Shaw into the back of the car with Root and the hacker immediately set up a transfusion line with a clear plastic tube trailing from her arm and into Shaw’s.

"Universal recipient," Reese muttered and got into the driver’s seat. Harold put Bear on the floor in the back, told him to stay put and tried to avoid the pale lifeless form of the former ISA agent. Instead, his eyes met Root's and any lingering animosity between them was lost to their shared grief over the Machine.

Root had tears in her eyes as she rested Shaw's head against her lap, careful of the IV line, and Harold didn't know if they were for the Machine or Shaw or both. But she looked lost, like her very lifeline had been snapped and suddenly Harold was more terrified of Root than he had ever been during their previous encounters.

He could already see Root slipping back into her former self, the way she had been before the Machine. He remembered vividly when he had her locked up, like an animal in a cage, cut-off from everything, including the Machine. How Root had almost begged him to let her out. Because something bad was coming.

And something bad did come. Something awful.

 _Was this how it was always meant to be?_ thought Harold. _Did it know? Had the Machine known all along it would come to this?_

"She's going to lose blood faster than we can give it to her," said Reese.

Harold quickly hopped into the passenger seat. They hadn’t been able to save the Machine, but maybe there was still time left to save Shaw.

"We passed a town on the way in," Harold said, taking charge, "about fifteen miles from here."

Reese nodded and skidded out of the desert, driving faster than the speed limit. Harold gripped his seat, and even though the car was already going at dangerous speeds, he still willed Reese to go faster.

 

_...Searching..._

_...Asset found... Initiating contact...._

_…Contact..._

_…Contact lost..._

"That's enough," John said and pulled the IV out of Root's arm. She looked ready to fight, but her blood donation had left her woozy and she slumped back into the seat as John gathered Shaw into his arms.

_Still breathing... Thank God._

He carried her into the veterinary clinic - the town was too small for a hospital, and the nearest medical facility was twenty miles away. Shaw didn't have twenty miles. A vet would have to do.

Finch and Bear had the vet cornered when John stepped inside and he eyed John and the woman in his arms as if they were all crazy.

"I'm going to need you to get the bullet out, stitch her up."

"I'm a _vet_."

"Let me make it clear for you," Reese said, carefully placing Shaw down on an examination table. "She dies, there’s nothing to stop my friend here from putting a bullet in your brain." Reese gestured to Root behind him.

The vet looked between Reese and Root, the gun held steady in the woman's hand, the blood all over her clothes, the murderous glint in her eye and made the wisest choice of his life.

Sweat dripped off the vet’s forehead as he worked, his hands trembling as he retrieved the bullet and stitched up Shaw’s insides.

Reese donated some of his own blood, then Finch when Reese started to feel light headed. But they all only had so much to give and it just kept pouring back out of Shaw.

And all Reese could think was, _not again._

He blamed the Machine and was glad it was dead, dying, or whatever the hell that virus was doing to it. The Machine had never been a God in John's eyes and it had always let him down, right when he needed it the most.

Or maybe he blamed Finch. Finch who created the Machine in the first place, who, like Root, put far too much trust in wires and plastic.

The Machine was dying and so was Shaw and John Reese knew which one he would rather lose.

Which one deserved to live.

Because for all her faults, or maybe despite of them, Shaw was his partner. And he hadn't been there when she needed him. So he gave her his blood, as much as he could before he passed out and sat down heavily knowing it wouldn't be enough.

This was the part where they would ask the Machine where they could acquire some more. Oh, how they all foolishly relied on that thing.

The vet finished stitching up Shaw's insides, looking like he had more blood on him than Shaw had left in her.

"That's the best I can do. But she needs to go to a hospital."

"No," said Reese and waved the vet to sit on the chair Finch had just vacated after donating his own fair share of blood.

The vet saw what he had in mind and tried to resist. "I still need to finish stitching up the entrance wound."

"I'll do it," said Reese.

The vet flinched when Harold put the needle in his arm and watched with wide eyes as his blood slowly travelled through the clear plastic tube and into Shaw.

Reese got to work, stitching up Shaw as best he could and hoping it was enough and knowing it wasn't.

Root looked she knew this too and Reese could tell she wanted to kill the vet when this was over, make someone else suffer. He knew this because he felt it too. But Harold would never allow it, be horrified to find them thinking it, and John had always had the nasty habit of doing what Finch told him.

Sometimes there were those rare occasions where Reese would go off and do his own thing. But it always turned out in the end that Harold was right.

Reese finished the last stitch and carefully placed a dressing over the wound. He liked to think there was colour returning to Shaw's cheeks, that her breathing had evened out, her blood pressure normalised. But it was a lie even as he thought it. It was a miracle Shaw had survived this long.

John Reese didn't believe in miracles. But he believed in Sameen Shaw. She was a fighter and she would survive this. She had to.

 

_...Searching..._

_... Ana1og InterfAcE f0uNd..._

_...in1Ti@li5ing c0nt@Ct..._

_...Er…#?#!2… erRoR..._

_...eRrOr..._

_…CoNtaCt lo... C0Ntact f@iled..._

_...eRroR..._

_… System Failure in progress..._

 

Two days. That's how long it had been.

Shaw hadn't moved or blinked or anything. She was still breathing, though only just.

Root didn't take her eyes off her, too afraid of missing any sign of life... or of that life slipping away...

Because she wasn't about to let Shaw die alone.

 _Not like Hannah_.

And not like the Machine.

She had called out to them all in the end, Root's implant hissing unpleasantly in her ear, screeching to be heard.

The Machine was dead and Shaw was dying and Root was going to burn them all.

"I got the antibiotics." Reese. She hadn't heard him come into the motel room, too focused on the woman lying lifeless on the bed, looking so much like a machine. _But you're not a Machine, Sameen, no matter how much you think you might be._

"Root?" Cautious. Tiptoeing around her, him and Harold both for days as if they were afraid she might break.

"I heard you." Her voice came out hollow and lifeless. _Like a machine_.

_I’m the robot, Shaw. Not you._

"Root, whatever you're thinking..."

"Don't tell me what I'm thinking," she said. Maybe her voice was harsh, she couldn't tell anymore, but Reese didn't flinch either way.

"I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking it too."

_You're really not._

"I _know_ ," said Reese carefully, "because when Carter died-"

"Don’t." She didn't want to hear it. She didn't care about Carter. There were only two things Root cared about. One of them was dead and the other...

Reese heeded her warning and gave Shaw a shot of antibiotics, leaving wordlessly through the door into the adjoining room. Root waited a beat, listened carefully to the sound of Reese's gentle, rumbling voice as he said something to Harold in the other room. Then there was silence.

Root took one last look at Shaw, the clammy sweat on her forehead, her deathly pale skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she struggled on with life.

"I'm sorry," Root whispered although she didn't know for what exactly. _For everything._

She leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Shaw's forehead. She tasted like salt and death and Root couldn't bear it anymore.

She grabbed her gun and headed for the door. She jumped when she found Harold on the other side, waiting for her and looking at her with such abject disappointment.

_What did you expect Harry? I'm a killer. We all are._

"Please don't do this, Miss Groves."

"Get out of my way, Harold," Root said and her voice was like ice.

"Miss Shaw wouldn't want you to do this," Harold said reasonably.

"You don't know what she would have wanted," Root snapped.

"I know she wouldn't want you to get hurt," said Harold. "Not because of her."

A year ago she wouldn't have believed him. A year ago she had tried to torture Shaw, dragged her on missions that Shaw had carried out only reluctantly on the Machine's behalf. But things had changed. Even before their time on the run, before Shaw had come to her rescue in Chicago.

Shaw _cared_.

And the truth of that threatened to overwhelm her. Root’s knees buckled underneath her and if Reese hadn't caught her from behind she would have hit the floor.

"You’re exhausted. You aren't going anywhere," Reese said in her ear.

She tried to fight him off, but he held her strong and she found she didn't have all that much fight left in her anyway.

"Now’s not the time to go all kamikaze," Reese continued. "But I promise - we _will_ make them pay."

Harold opened his mouth - maybe to object, maybe to agree. The Machine was his creation after all - _didn't he want to make them all burn too?_

Root struggled vainly one more time to get free, but she didn't have the strength and she let Harold gingerly remove the gun from her grip. After that, she slumped against Reese in defeat and let him lead her to the bed next door.

"Sleep," he ordered.

She stared at him defiantly even as her eyes slid shut involuntarily.

It was the first time she had slept in a long time without the Machine whispering assurances in her ear.


	8. Chapter 7

Sameen Shaw had always had a strong tolerance for pain. Even the kind that rips and burns and feels like it is never going to end.

The first time Sameen felt real pain was when she was six. She had gotten into a fight with a boy at school. He had called her a freak - and _nobody_ called Sameen Shaw a freak. So she had punched him in the face, just like her dad had taught her to, protecting her knuckles and her thumb. The crunch of Dean Walker's nose breaking was the most satisfying thing Sameen had ever heard. The sound of his crying was even better. He never called Sameen a freak again. But his older sister did, when she cornered Sameen the next day with her posse of two ugly friends.

They were bigger than her, older and stronger and they held Sameen down as Dean's sister beat the crap out of her.

It was the worst pain Sameen had ever felt in her short life, but she never gave the older girls the satisfaction of crying out. Instead she stood and took it and imagined that her father would be proud of her bravery.

The girls left her on the ground, bleeding, bruised and with what felt like a broken wrist.

Sameen limped home, every step sending a jolt of pain through her entire body, every breath feeling like her lungs were on fire.

When she made it home, her father didn't look proud. _Afraid_ , she thought, but couldn't be sure.

Her mother had fussed the whole way to the hospital, a mixture of English and Farsi so rapid that Sameen couldn't keep up with it. But it was always variations of the same question: _who did this to you?_

Sameen kept her silence, she wasn't a rat, and maybe her dad was proud of her for that. At least she was fighting her own battles, unlike Dean.

She didn't know it then, but that incident was the tip of the iceberg, the turning point in her relationship with her mother. Sameen's utter detachment from the whole incident seemed to set something off inside of her. _Why aren't you like normal children?_ and _What is wrong with you?_ screamed at her in Farsi.

She understood every word of it - and so did her dad, wincing at the words but not denying them either - but still she did not react. Not even when the police arrived in her hospital room as they were waiting on the results from the X-ray of her possibly broken wrist.

They asked her if she saw who had attacked her and took her silence as an admission. It wasn't until later, when they took her father away for questioning, that she realised the police had put two and two together and got it so completely wrong. They'd had to let her father go in the end, he had a solid alibi - the Giants had been playing and he had cheered them on with fifty other guys in the sports bar down the street from the barracks he was currently stationed at.

Her dad had never asked her again who had done it, but he did show her how to escape an attacker from behind. And, like with everything he taught her, she used it as a shield and vowed to never let anyone near her again.

*

The pain of getting beat up for the first time was like a mild itch compared to how Shaw felt when she woke up.

Her entire body ached and seemed to gravitate towards the solar flare building up in her gut. Her eyes met unfamiliar ceiling and, not knowing where she was, she sat up suddenly.

That was a mistake.

Hot lava seemed to spill out of her insides and for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't think... Couldn't even remember who she was let alone what had happened to her.

Gentle hands pushed her back down on the bed and she kept her eyes shut, willing the pain away.

She had been shot. She remembered that much, but not how she had gotten here.

"Easy," said Reese. His voice was gentle and calm, so unlike his usual gruffness that she knew it must be bad.

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice croaky from disuse.

"A week," Reese replied, fussing with her IV. "To be honest - didn't think you were going to make it this long."

"Me neither," she admitted meeting Reese's eyes and seeing nothing but relief. She thought she was a goner, buried under the desert along with the Machine.

She didn't try to sit up again, but she did lean forward slightly to look at her wound, peeling the dressing back marginally.

"Had to take you to a vet," Reese said apologetically. "Didn’t have a lot of choice, given the circumstances."

Shaw frowned but didn't comment and examined the wound, always the doctor, even when she hadn't been one for years.

"It's infected," she stated. It explained the fever she could feel building up in side of her.

"Stole you some antibiotics," Reese said and tapped the IV hooked up next to the bed. "Amongst other things."

He looked at her as if to say _relax, we got this_ , but she didn't believe him.

"You took me to a _vet_?" she said scowling at her raw and ragged stitches. "Asshole's gonna leave a scar."

"Actually," said Reese, "that was me. You don't like my handy work?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Stitches are a little crooked," she said but she smiled gratefully all the same.

Shaw leaned back against the pillows and already it was a struggle to keep her eyes open. But she fought against the tiredness, cursed the weakness of her body and made herself focus on Reese.

He was edgy, closed off and she suspected it was more than just her near death experience that caused it.

"The Machine?" she asked groggily, but Reese understood, and he looked at her carefully as if unsure how much to tell her in her current state.

"Root hasn't heard from it since the virus was uploaded," Reese said eventually.

Shaw didn't know if that was a good sign or not, if Samaritan was gone too. If it was over.

"She's taking it pretty hard," Reese added.

"Well,” said Shaw, “that thing was whispering in her ear for over a year.”

"I wasn't talking about the Machine," said Reese.

Shaw looked at him sharply, feeling more alert now than she had since she first woke up.

"We almost lost you, Shaw," said Reese quietly, and it was the way he carefully avoided her eyes that told her just how true that was. And how much it had cost Reese to witness it. She thought of Carter then. Carter who died in Reese's arms. Shaw was glad he didn't have to go through that again.

"She cares for you," Reese added. "More than you know."

It took Shaw a moment to realise he was still talking about Root. _She cares for you..._

Shaw didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. Didn't want to reveal anything to Reese. Or to herself.

"You should rest," Reese said after a while.

Shaw closed her eyes, could feel the edge of slumber take her over, blessedly masking the pain.

"Hey, John?" she said before it could fully overcome her.

He paused halfway to the door of the adjoining room.

"Thanks," Shaw said and fell asleep.

*

Sameen dreamt of football and car crashes. She dreamt her father hadn't died and that she had completed her residency despite the concerns of her Chief Resident.

But mostly she dreamt about Root. She couldn't see her at first, her face hidden in darkness even as Sameen struggled to step closer, like she was walking through treacle. But it was Root alright, just not the Root she was used to, not with the robotic arm and mechanical eye, more machine than human.

_What happened to you?_

_I am the interface_ , Root replied, her voice just as mechanical as the rest of her.

 _No_ , said Shaw. _No._

And was pretty sure she heard a scream. She couldn't figure out where it was coming from, the sound all around her as if it was coming from _everywhere_.

 _Stop it_ , she said to the half woman, half robot.

_This is what She wanted._

Maybe, Sameen thought, but what did _you_ want?

The screaming continued, burning Sameen's ears, drilling into her brain until she could no longer stand it.

 _Stop it_ , she said. Over and over again. But Root wasn't listening and it took Sameen awhile to realise that the screams were her own.

*

Shaw woke up with a jolt that sent a spasm of pain through her torso. She clenched her eyes shut until it passed, until her ragged breathing evened out.

"Are you alright, Miss Shaw?"

Shaw peered through her eyelids - Finch sitting on the chair by the bed, looking concerned. Did she have a fucking babysitter 24/7 now?

"I'm fine," she snapped. Harold looked like he didn't believe her.

"I’d give you more pain medication, but we ran out," Finch said, ignoring the glare Shaw sent his way when he continued to fuss, straightening her pillows and her blanket like he was some sort of mother hen. "Probably for the best," he added, "we don't want you getting a dependency on the stuff."

Shaw grunted and sat up; ignoring the pain and the concerned look Harold shot her way. It was bearable, just, and she breathed heavily until the pain settled into a dull throb.

"I don't suppose you are up to eating anything?" Finch asked, leaving her side and moving over to the dressing table.

The thought alone made Shaw nauseous. But her body was weak and any nutrients she could get into it would only speed up her recovery.

She nodded slightly and Harold brought over a paper cup. When he prised the plastic lid off, hot steam spilled out, clouding up his glasses.

"Chicken noodle soup," he said pulling a plastic spoon out of his pocket. For one horrifying moment, Shaw thought he was going to attempt to spoon feed her until she snatched it off him.

She used her good arm, but it still trembled slightly as she brought the hot soup to her lips. It burned down her throat but it was nothing compared to the fire in her gut. She managed two more spoonfuls before she gave up, but Harold seemed satisfied at her meagre attempt at a meal.

"Can I get you anything else?" Harold asked.

She shook her head, irked that she needed someone to wait on her hand and foot. "Just tell me what I've missed."

"Nothing much," Harold said, placing the uneaten soup back on top of the dressing table. "We've been hiding out here, waiting for you to recover."

"What about Samaritan?" she asked _. Please tell me it wasn't all for nothing._

"We can't be sure," said Finch, "but both Mr Reese and I are in agreement that we should keep a low profile for now."

"What about Root?" Shaw asked. "What does she think?"

She thought she saw Finch stiffen slightly at her question. It sent her suspicions flying wildly and her heart thudding unexpectedly.

"Harold," she said slowly. "Where's Root?"

"Miss Groves is next door," Harold assured her. But the very air about him was guilty and the absence of the other woman since Shaw woke up was glaring. She didn't like to admit it, but Shaw had actually been a little disappointed that Root hadn't been there when she woke up. Maybe she had just gotten used to the other woman's presence, Root’s usual innuendo and smugness just part of their routine. She missed it, she realised. She missed Root.

It was a startling revelation and it made her want to question Finch further, find out what he was hiding. She didn't think she would be convinced that Root was unharmed until she saw the hacker with her own eyes.

Harold started to fuss again and she batted his hands away when he tried to check the dressing on her wounded arm. "I guess it's true what they say about doctors making terrible patients," he said with a smile and the way he deftly changed the subject didn't go by Shaw unnoticed. But she chose to let it go for now. Mainly because she was too tired to argue, and could once again feel her eyelids drooping downwards without her permission. She could feel Finch watching her until she gave into it.

Sleep hadn't fully taken her when she heard Harold mutter, "I’m glad you're alright, Sameen," and the way he brushed the hair out of her face almost tenderly. She didn't know what to make of the gesture and it surprised her more than anything. But she fell asleep before she could do anything about it.

*

The next time Shaw woke up, she didn't feel nearly as groggy. She still wasn't quite back to normal, but her body was starting to feel like her own again.

She was alone this time; no one fussing over her, thankfully. And without someone to occupy her attention, she took the time to look around the room. It was a dingy motel room, like so many of the rooms she and Root had shared during their time on the run. If it weren't for the stolen medical equipment by the bed, Shaw could almost pretend that was where she was, before it all went to shit.

But it had all gone to shit before then, hadn't it? Back in New York, when Samaritan had first came online, with Vigilance and their trial. It all seemed so long ago. A distant memory so faded that for a few innocent weeks Shaw had almost believed they were safe.

But they hadn't been. And they still weren't.

A week, Reese had said. A week hiding out in the same place because Shaw was too weak to move. How much danger had her injuries put them all in? Even if Samaritan was out of the picture, Decima would still be looking for them. They just had to go about it the old fashioned way. And the longer they stayed here, the more likely it was that they would be found.

She tried to tell herself that she felt better as she sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, her good arm keeping her upright as dizziness washed over her in waves, almost sending her crashing. She took deep breaths, breathing heavily through the pain and the nausea until it passed. It seemed to take hours before she felt settled enough to move.

It was a bad idea and she knew it as soon as she stood up and felt her legs shake under her weight. Shaw toppled back into the bed, exhausted and angry, swearing under her breath at everything and everyone.

Reese found her like that. And she supposed she was grateful it was him and not Harold, who would have fussed and clucked and she wouldn't put it past him to tie her to the bed if he thought it was the only way to make her stay put.

Reese helped her into a more comfortable position and she let him only because she was too tired to argue.

"Don't say it," she grunted.

Reese held up his arms innocently. "I never said a word." But he smirked at her anyway, his eyes twinkling mischievously, the joke on her, the doctor come patient.

"Although, I don't know where you were planning on escaping to," he added, "we are in the middle of the desert."

"About that," Shaw said, "we need to move. If Decima finds us..."

"They won't."

"We’ve been here too long, John."

"Don't worry about it," he said, checking her wound. "You're lucky you didn't tear the stitches. Stay in bed, that's an order."

"Since when are you in charge?" she said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"This comes from Finch."

"I don't always do what Finch tells me," she said.

"I've noticed," John deadpanned. "Just rest. Let your body heal itself."

"I thought I was the doctor around here," Shaw said. But she didn't try to move again.

"And if it was me lying on that bed," said Reese, "what would you say?"

Shaw grunted. _Point taken_ , she thought although she still wasn't happy about it.

Reese stayed with her for a while and they sat in companionable silence, neither of them apt to make small talk. He put the TV on, let Shaw pick what they watched and groaned in annoyance when she put an old Star Trek rerun on.

She glared at him, almost daring him to comment. But he said nothing and fell asleep in his chair half way through the episode.

Shaw didn't pay much attention to the TV; she'd seen it before with her dad when she was little. Star Trek and football had been his two favourite pastimes. Shaw didn't mind it. She thought phasers were pretty wussy weapons, but something about Spock's cool, calm logic had always resonated with her.

Reese's gentle snores were calming and familiar and eventually Shaw drifted off. When she came to, she didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but Reese was still out and the episode of Star Trek was long over, the news on in its place.

It took a moment for Shaw's comprehension to take hold, but when it did, she sat up, barely registering the pain and shook John awake.

He woke up with a start, but relaxed when he saw Shaw.

"You better check this out," she said turning the volume up.

Reese looked confused for a moment but then his attention quickly turned to the TV.

The newscaster was calm and collected; Shaw gave her kudos for that as she made her report.

_"... So far authorities have been unable to comment on the incident that happened just fifteen minutes ago and at this time it is unknown how many, if there are indeed any, casualties..."_

"Terrorist attack?" Reese asked, glancing at her with a mild look of horror.

Shaw shrugged. "Well that confirms Samaritan is out of the picture. No more relevant numbers."

"This is bad," Reese said eyes glued to the TV.

Shaw agreed, watching as scenes flashed across the screen - buildings devastated, people dirty and bloody fleeing the scene.

 _Downtown New York_ , Shaw thought. The bomb had gone off only a few blocks away from her old apartment. So close to home that Shaw felt the urge to get up and leave. Do _something._

Reese, anticipating what she was thinking, put a hand on her arm to still her. "There's nothing you can do," he said.

"We did this, John," she said. They had taken out the Machine and Samaritan. They were the ones who had stopped the government from receiving the relevant numbers.

"I know," John said. "But we had no choice."

Shaw wasn't sure she believed that anymore, wasn't sure they had done the right thing. Maybe listening to and trusting Root had been a bad idea after all. Shaw regretted the thought as soon as it crossed her mind. Samaritan had to be stopped. It had all the power of the Machine and it had abused it. But this was the cost and Shaw didn't like it.

The door to the adjoining room opened suddenly and Harold stepped through. Shaw tried to peer around him, but he closed the door too quickly for her to get a proper look. Shaw again wondered where Root was. She thought she had glimpsed something through the door, but couldn't be sure.

"Oh good, you’re watching," said Harold. He looked devastated, she realised. And Shaw wondered if this was how he looked after 9/11, after the towers came down and the body counts started rolling in, when the first threads of the Machine started weaving in his head.

"There was nothing we could have done," John said almost as if he were trying to convince himself.

"Please," said Harold, his voice turning cold, "don't. We could have let Samaritan live. We could have let Decima take us."

 _Live?_ Shaw thought, as if it were alive. Root and Harold were opposites in many ways, but when it came to technology and the Machine, they were more alike than either of them would care to admit.

"Finch," said John slowly, "don't do this to yourself."

But Harold wasn't listening, his eyes never leaving the TV.

*

One hundred and four. That's how many people had died in the attack. More than double that injured and still several unaccounted for.

The next few days were awful. Shaw kept the news on, but it was just variations of the same story: authorities still didn't know who was responsible; those still missing hadn't been found.

She didn't see much of Finch, but the few glimpses she did see of him, she didn't like. He was blaming himself, feeling all one hundred and four deaths as if he had planted the bomb and set it off himself. Reese didn't look much better, but she suspected he was trying to put on a brave face for her. She didn't buy it and they both knew it.

And still no sign of Root. It was starting to make Shaw worried, the way she couldn't get a straight answer out of either of the boys. Maybe she had taken off as soon as they had escaped the underground facility. Or maybe she had never made it out at all and Harold and Reese just didn't want to tell her until she had recovered from her own injuries. It was a cold thought, and one that wouldn't leave her in a hurry, and it left her sleeping badly with dreams full of bombs and bullets, a hundred and four people dead, Root amongst them.

Shaw was recovering nicely though, her appetite returned and she managed to keep some of the food down that Reese brought her.

She was bored though and thought she would go mad from it if she didn't get some action soon. Her wishes were answered almost a day later when Reese rushed into her room - through the front door this time and not the adjoining one.

"Decima agents crawling all over town," he explained. "It’s only a matter of time before they track us down. Four people sharing two motel rooms and paying the maids to keep out is going to attract attention."

 _Four people,_ was all Shaw could think.

John handed her some clean clothes, her standard black. "Get dressed."

She managed most of it herself. Reese had to help her get the shirt over her head and with her shoes. It was a testament of how far they had come that she let him do it without much of a fuss. The immediacy of the situation had stopped her from arguing too.

She could still barely walk, but at least the dizziness was gone when she stood up. Reese helped her to the car and into the backseat.

"Give me your backup piece," she said, holding her hand out. John looked at her warily. "I won't tell Finch if you don't."

"Fine," John said, handing it over. "Although I don't know how much damage you expect to do when you can barely walk."

"I can still point and shoot, John."

He grunted and disappeared back into the motel room as Shaw tucked the weapon away into her jacket.

The effort of getting dressed and her short walk from the motel room to the car had left her exhausted. Feeling like she had done nothing but sleep over the past two weeks, Shaw closed her eyes. She opened them again when she felt something warm and wet on her hand: Bear licking her hand and looking excited to see her.

She had almost forgotten about the dog after everything. She patted him behind the ears, taking comfort from his simple and undemanding presence.

The other passenger door opened and Root got in the back seat. The sight of the other woman was so startling that Shaw didn’t know what to say. She looked like shit, worse than Shaw felt, all pale and gaunt and her eyes distant and empty. As soon as she sat down, Reese handcuffed her right wrist to the door handle and slammed the door shut.

Shaw felt affronted on the other woman's behalf. Did Reese and Finch have Root locked up this entire time? She wouldn't put it past them and she wondered what Root had done to make the handcuffs necessary. It explained why she hadn't seen or heard anything from the other woman since she woke up, but she was annoyed that Reese and Finch hadn't just come clean about it.

Root refused to meet her eyes, staring straight ahead as if she weren't really there at all. Shaw wanted to snap her out of it but she fell asleep before she could.

*

Shaw woke with a start, confused by the darkness outside.

"Relax," a voice next to her said. "We stopped to get gas."

Shaw glanced over to the other woman, still handcuffed to the door like a prisoner. No sign of Reese or Finch and it felt strange to be alone with Root again after so long. The car suddenly felt too small, the space between them not big enough.

"What did you do?" Shaw asked, sitting up and trying to act casual, trying to pretend she wasn't bothered by Root's near catatonic state.

"It’s not about what I did," said Root, "but what I _might_ do."

Shaw stared at her in confusion and still Root didn't look at her.

"You see that guy over there," Root said, nodding towards a man in a baseball cap filling up his tank with gas. Shaw looked at him, seeing nothing familiar.

"What about him?" she asked.

"I don't know if he's married or not to the woman in the car. Maybe he is. And maybe he beats the crap out of her on a regular basis," said Root distantly. Shaw looked over at the couple, wondering where Root was going with this. "Or maybe," she continued, "he treats her like a princess. The Machine would have known. But either way..." She paused and turned to face Shaw for the first time since she got into the car. "I want to tear his insides out."

Root looked away again, watched as the guy in the baseball cap paid for his gas and got back into the car. She was serious, Shaw realised. Root didn't know this guy, didn't care if he was innocent, helpless. She wanted to make him suffer. She wanted to make him _bleed_. Part of Shaw understood the need for it. And she knew exactly how the need for revenge could burn its way through your entire body. But Root was directing her grief and her anger at all the wrong people. And she wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who so much as got in her line of sight.

She was dangerous.

And that's why Finch had felt the need to lock her up.                        

"Okay," said Shaw slowly. "Pick the lock, go tear out that guy's insides. It won't make you feel any better."

"You don't know that," said Root.

"Fine," Shaw snapped. "Maybe it will make you feel better. But it won’t mean anything and Decima will still have won. And you know what, Root?”

“What?” said Root, but she looked like she didn’t care what Shaw had to say.

“Don’t let them,” said Shaw fiercely. “Don’t let them win. You’re better than that. The Machine _made_ you better than that.”

Root looked at her, properly this time, her eyes meeting Shaw's. They had lost their hard edge and they looked watery and scared. Her breathing hitched and something electric seemed to pass between them. Shaw felt it with an intensity so great that it made the air around them feel hot and thick. And suddenly the distant between them was too great and Shaw found herself leaning closer, watching in fascination as Root licked her lips.

But then the driver’s door opened and the moment was lost and Shaw pulled herself back so suddenly that she nudged her bad arm against the door. She hissed slightly at the sudden jarring pain.

"Ah, Miss Shaw, you're awake," said Finch getting into the front passenger seat. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot and almost died," Shaw said scathingly. "Why, Harold, how are you feeling?"

Finch didn't even flinch at her words, just took it in his stride. "Nice to see your sarcasm is still intact," he muttered.

Shaw rolled her eyes and was glad to see the slight twitch at the corner of Root's mouth that quickly turned into a smile. It lit up the other woman's face, took some of the darkness away.

Reese started up the car and drove them out of the gas station and a pleasant silence filled the car.

Shaw jerked slightly when Root's fingers brushed against hers, warm and comforting and gone entirely too soon after giving Shaw’s hand a gentle squeeze: Root's silent way of letting her know that she had heard her, that Shaw’s words had gotten through to her.

 


	9. Chapter 8

They were heading for New York, but in the most roundabout way as possible in order to avoid the Decima agents hot on their trail. Reese and Finch took turns driving and Shaw sat in the back watching the world go by and sleeping as best a person could whilst sitting up and recovering from a bullet wound.

Nobody talked much during the journey and it was almost stifling at times, _one hundred and four_ hanging in the air between them all.

They stopped to get gas again and Shaw couldn't remember how long they had been driving for. Days, weeks, months. Too long. She needed to get out, walk around, get some air. Harold looked like he was about to protest when she made this suggestion but her glare silenced him and she took a deep breath before opening the car door.

"May I be let out to the bathroom, please?" said Root, jingling her handcuffs to get Harold's attention.

"You'll have to wait until Mr Reese gets back," he said, facing the front again. He'd taken to childishly ignoring Root now that she had snapped out of her impassive state. Shaw didn't blame him and wished Root would stop trying to bait him at every opportunity she could get.

"Just let her out of the damn handcuffs, Harold," Shaw said, halfway out the door.

Harold looked at her, then at Root, his misgivings clear.

"I'll take full responsibility for her," Shaw added and chose to ignore the sly smirk Root shot her way.

Harold deliberated with himself for a moment before wordlessly handing Root the keys.

"Thank you," she simpered, unlocking the cuffs and making an exaggerated show of rubbing her wrist when she was free.

Shaw rolled her eyes. "Would you come on already," she snapped.

Root smirked and got out of the car, walking round to fall in beside Shaw as they made their way into the gas station.

"Do you even need to pee?" Shaw asked.

"Nope," said Root. "But someone has to make sure you don't fall on your stubborn, invalid ass."

"I'm not an invalid," Shaw snapped in annoyance.

"No," Root agreed, "but you are stubborn."

Shaw shook her head as she walked into the gas station. And to think, she had deluded herself into thinking she had missed this.

Shaw made an immediate beeline for the snacks aisle and reached up for a packet of Twizzlers, wincing in pain as she pulled at her stitches.

"Here," Root said, reaching up behind her, impossibly close, so that her body was pressed flush against Shaw's. She could feel the curve of the other woman's breasts as she leaned into her back.

"I can manage," Shaw grumbled, trying to control her breathing.

"Whatever, Short Stack," Root said, handing her the candy.

"And stop calling me that," said Shaw, snatching the packet and heading for the counter to pay.

"I've only called you it twice," Root pointed out as Shaw handed over some cash to the girl behind the counter. "But it's a good nickname for you, don't you think? Actually," Root said contemplatively, "Grouchy would work well too."

Shaw gritted her teeth but didn't say anything. Because this - Root taunting her relentlessly - was better than Root drowning in darkness and self-pity.  So Shaw stood and took it even if she did feel like punching something.

Shaw made to head back to the car, but Root grabbed her arm before she could reach the door.

"Wait," she said, glancing nervously at the girl behind the counter, but she wasn't paying them any attention.

"What?" said Shaw. Annoyed, tired and hungry was a bad combination with her and her voice came out harsher than intended.

"Can we just... wait a minute before heading back?"

Shaw shrugged and opened her bag of candy as Root led them out the back way.

"Not planning on killing anyone are you?" Shaw asked, chewing on a Twizzler.

"No," said Root. "Not yet."

"Cos I can still take you, you know," Shaw added once they were outside.

Root rolled her eyes. "Oh, I don't doubt it." She leaned lazily against the back wall of the gas station, her eyes sliding shut.

Shaw took the time to study her as she chewed; the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, Root’s elegant, long neck.

Shaw swallowed hard - clearly getting shot hadn't brought her to her senses. She was still fascinated by this woman who pissed her off more than anyone she had ever met. Maybe that was part of the allure.

"You’re doing it again," Root said, her eyes still closed.

“What?” said Shaw thickly.

 "Staring at me," she explained.

"No, I'm not," Shaw said, hot on the defensive.

"Liar," Root said, opening her eyes and catching Shaw in the act with a smirk.

Shaw shook her head, a denial on her lips. But there was a smile on her face and something within her seemed to settle and everything seemed much clearer, like there was nothing but them, just Shaw and Root under the stars. And Root was watching her expectantly, eyes dark and intense.

"Fuck it," Shaw muttered, tossing her half eaten candy aside and moving the two short steps to close the distance between them.

Her lips crashed against Root's, teeth and tongues fighting a battle with each other as Shaw pushed her hard against the wall, hands gripping the other woman's face so tight like she was afraid Root would bolt as soon as Shaw let her guard down.

But Root wasn't going anywhere, her hands gripping Shaw's hips, fingers burning through Shaw's skin. And unlike the fire from the bullet wound in her gut, it was a good kind of burning that Shaw wanted more of, wanted everywhere, all over her entire body.

Someone let out moan and Shaw didn't know if it was her or Root or both of them.

But then Root pulled away and Shaw had to bite back a whine at the loss of contact.

"About time," Root breathed, lifting a hand up to brush the hair out of Shaw's face.

"Fuck," was all Shaw could say, everything else was an incoherent mess as she struggled to breath, struggled to think with Root so close to her, their faces a hair’s breadth away. She slipped her hands down to rest on Root's shoulders, feeling the tightness of her muscles underneath her jacket.

Root laughed. "Maybe later. We should get back before Harold sends out a search party," she added and she looked a little sad at the thought.

"He was out of line, locking you up," Shaw said angrily, tightening her grip on the other woman.

"No," said Root, "he wasn't."

Shaw opened her mouth to say something but Root pushed her gently away before she could get any words out.

"Come on, let's go," Root said.

*

Shaw's lips were still tingling when she got back into the car. Reese glanced at her sideways through the rear view mirror, looking like he could see right through her, and she knew the slight stiffening of her body as Root got into the car beside her did not go unnoticed by him.

"Enjoy your short run at freedom?" Reese asked Root knowingly, and Shaw had to bite her lip to stop from grinning at the flush of embarrassment that appeared at the tips of Root's cheeks.

They drove another thirty miles or so until Reese declared that he needed a decent night’s sleep and stopped them outside a motel that had to be one of the nicest looking ones Shaw had seen so far. Harold went to get them two twin rooms and returned about five minutes later, handing Shaw a room key.

"I trust the handcuffs won't be necessary tonight, Miss Groves," said Finch.

It took all of Shaw's effort to keep her face neutral as she watched Root and knew that the other woman's mind had gone straight into the gutter.

Harold, as usual, was oblivious, and he glanced at Shaw for confirmation that she would still make sure Root didn't go anywhere. She nodded slightly and he seemed satisfied enough to follow Reese to their room.

"Still taking full responsibility for me?" Root mumbled in her ear. "You should have kept the handcuffs - we could have had a lot of fun with them."

Shaw rolled her eyes. "Shut up,” she said, shoving Root in the direction of their room.

As soon as they had stepped over the threshold and Shaw had shut the door, Root was on top of her, hands and mouth everywhere. The door handle pushed into the small of her back as Root leaned into her and she grunted as a jolt of pain shot through her body, tightening her grip on the other woman's waist, digging her fingernails in deep enough to leave a mark.

Root bit Shaw's bottom lip and grinned. "You're wearing far too many clothes," she muttered.

"So are you," Shaw said and leaned up to capture Root's lips again, sliding the leather jacket off the other woman's shoulders. Root had to slip it the rest of the way off and she tossed it behind her haphazardly; letting out a moan when Shaw immediately turned her attention to what was underneath Root's shirt. Her skin was soft and warm underneath Shaw's fingertips, but it wasn't enough. Never enough. And she started to tug the garment up and over Root's head, but a knock at the door stilled her half way through the manoeuvre.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," she grumbled, dropping her arms to her side as Root ducked her head to giggle into the crook off her neck.

"Don't be so grouchy, Grouchy," Root mumbled into her skin, sending a shiver down Shaw's spine.

The knock resounded again and Shaw had to suppress the urge to bang her head against the wall.

"I don't think they're going away anytime soon," Root said sadly. She kissed Shaw softly on the throat before stepping back to lounge lazily on one of the beds. She looked so damn sexy, lying like that, her hair dishevelled and looking extremely fuckable, that Shaw wanted to shoot whoever had interrupted them.

She knew it was Harold before she even opened the door and she snapped a "What?" at him before he had even registered she had answered.

"Mr Reese and I are heading out for some dinner," said Harold, either unaware of or choosing to ignore her mood. "Would you and Miss Groves like to join us?"

"No," said Shaw.

"I really think you should eat something," said Harold with concern.

Shaw held up her half eaten bag of Twizzlers. "I'm good."

"That’s not what I meant," said Harold and she thought she was about to be on the receiving end of a lecture about how she had to keep her strength up and stay healthy.

Fortunately, Reese was there to drag Finch away before her wrath got the best of her. "We'll bring you something back," he said.

"Whatever," Shaw muttered, slamming the door shut. She leaned back against it, watching Root smirk up at her from the bed. But the air started to cool and whatever heat had been between them quickly dissipated. Root sat up, sensing the change in atmosphere as Shaw directed her eyes at anywhere but the other woman.

Maybe she should have gone to dinner, because this was a Bad Idea, capital letters and all. Every single doubt that Shaw had about the other woman seemed to rise to the surface until that was all she could see, until she was drowning in it.

Shaw took off her jacket, careful of her wounded arm, before sitting on the other bed opposite Root, watching as Root stood to pick up her jacket that had landed near the foot of the bed and placed it carefully over the back of a chair. She turned to face Shaw, cocking her head slightly to the side and she moved slowly closer. "Oh, Sameen," she scolded lightly, "turn that frown upside down." And she used her thumbs to lift up the corners if Shaw's mouth in what, Shaw imagined, probably looked more like a grimace than a smile. She batted Root's arms away with a scowl.

Root sighed exaggeratedly, as if Shaw's mood was a terrible inconvenience. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Shaw said sullenly, pulling a Twizzler out of the packet and chewing on it absently.

"You always such a mood killer?" Root asked, folding her arms in annoyance.

"No," said Shaw, continuing to scowl as Root waited her out. "I'm not very good at this shit," she added after a while.

"Really?" said Root sarcastically. "I hadn't noticed."

Shaw's scowl turned into a glare.

Root rolled her eyes, took the Twizzler out of Shaw’s hand and tossed it into the trashcan. “Look,” she said forcing Shaw to look at her. “I don’t want any declarations from you or anything, and I wouldn’t expect them. And frankly,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind Shaw’s ear and bringing her mouth closer, her voice a low husk, “I just want to have sex with you.”

Shaw swallowed and pulled Root towards her until she was straddling Shaw's lap. "I think I can manage that."

"Thought you might," Root said and leaned down to kiss her.

This time, Shaw managed to get Root's shirt off without interruption and she attacked the new exposed skin with a ferocity that startled her. Shaw flipped Root onto her back with more strength than she thought she was capable of given her injuries, and explored Root's body with her tongue and her teeth, biting down hard, leaving the skin raw and ragged, like she was marking her territory. Shaw traced Root’s scars with her tongue: the one on her shoulder that Shaw had given her, and all the others, all of them adding up and reminding Shaw that Root was breakable.

Root wriggled pleasantly beneath her as Shaw trailed her lips down Root's stomach and back up, unhooking the other woman's bra with one hand. Root leaned up to slip it off and tossed it aside, gasping when Shaw's mouth clamped around her left nipple, biting and nipping until Root grabbed her by the face and pulled her up to kiss her.

"You're still wearing far too many clothes," Root said into her mouth.

"And you're talking far too much," Shaw said, but she took her shirt off anyway and Root sat up to help her with her bra when it became obvious Shaw wasn't going to manage with her injured arm.

Root paused, fingers hovering over Shaw's bandaged gut wound. She looked lost and very far away as she stared at it and Shaw grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together as she pushed Root back down into the bed.

"Hey, I'm right here," Shaw said quietly.

Root nodded but looked like she didn't believe it, like she _couldn't_ and Shaw kissed her until the look went away.

Then she was moving down Root's body, her intentions clear as she unbuttoned Root's jeans with one hand, sliding them and her underwear down her long legs until they were gone, leaving Root naked and exposed.

Shaw ducked her head down, found Root warm and wanting and oh so very inviting as Shaw slid her tongue into her. It had been a while since Shaw had had sex, even longer since she had been with a woman, but her muscles seemed to know what they were doing as her tongue circled Root's clit, making her gasp and buck her hips violently. Shaw held her down, relishing in the sound and feel of Root coming undone underneath her.  But it wasn't enough. She wanted to _see_ her come undone, wanted to see Root break beneath her like she was some fragile thing.  Shaw paused just as Root's breathing started to become more ragged.

"Don't... Don't stop." Her voice cracking and breathless and the most beautiful thing Shaw had ever heard. Root had her eyes closed when Shaw kissed her but they snapped open immediately, hands pulling her closer as Root deepened the kiss hungrily. She bit down hard on Shaw's lip when Shaw slipped three fingers inside of her, her eyes rolling back as Shaw worked them more rapidly than any triggers she had ever pulled, Root clenching tightly around her, rocking her hips wildly to match Shaw's rhythm. When the orgasm hit her, her back arched off the bed and she called out Shaw's name - her first name - in a breathless wave, and it was like music to Shaw's ears.

Shaw could feel her own arousal building up inside of her and she itched to get some friction between her thighs. But she waited patiently for Root to come to, watched fascinated as her eyes went from glazed detachment to sharp, clear focus, like Root was coming back to the world she had been apart from for so long.

"Hi," Root said eventually, looking a little surprised.

"Hi," said Shaw smugly. "Still with me?"

Root nodded and flipped Shaw onto her back, using one of those moves Shaw had taught her in what seemed like forever ago.

Root was surprisingly quick at removing the rest of Shaw's clothes, tearing at them and pulling, so impatient. Shaw watched, offering no help, and no resistance either, until she was naked too and Root's fingers and tongue were inside of her, _doing_ things to her that Shaw had never felt before, building up a raging inferno inside until Shaw felt she would burst from it. And her breathing became uncontrollable, unbearable until Root made her come with an intensity so great she could see stars, her ears buzzing as the blood rushed through her. Shaw leaned back, exhausted, like she had just ran ten marathons and yet she still wanted more, but she was too tired to move.

"Okay, I was wrong," Shaw said breathlessly as Root crawled up the length of her. "No steak is better than that."

Root snorted and kissed her. "You're an idiot."

Shaw scowled but she suspected her tiredness rather diminished its effect somewhat as she fell asleep.

*

When Shaw woke up, the other side of the bed was empty and she turned around to find Root getting dressed hurriedly at the other end of the room.

"Where are you going?" she said drowsily.

Root jumped, looking at her guiltily. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

Shaw shook her head and sat up, rubbing the tiredness out of her eyes.

"Couldn't sleep," Root explained. "Thought I'd go get you some fresh bandages since we managed to tear your stitches last night during our, uh... activities," she said smugly.

Shaw glanced down at her blood stained bandages. She hadn't even noticed. Hadn't felt a thing. But it looked like it had stopped bleeding ages ago.

"Go back to sleep," Root said, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on her shoes.

"Hey, can you get me something to eat?” said Shaw through a yawn as she sat up. “I'm starving."

Root rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"

"Vodka would be nice."

Root raised an eyebrow.

"What?" said Shaw. "It's for medicinal purposes. Just don't tell Finch," she added.

"Fine," said Root. "Food and vodka. Got it. You're a simple woman to please," she muttered.

"Well you would know," said Shaw leaning back into the bed, "after last night."

Root smirked, but it quickly faded, and she turned serious all of a sudden. That darkness edging at her eyes again as she stared at Shaw.

"I can't believe you're real," Root said quietly and Shaw frowned as Root leaned in to kiss her. "Sleep," she said. "I'll be back soon."

*

Shaw woke up to the early dawn light drifting through the curtains. The room was empty and she immediately knew something was wrong with a cold, hard clarity that sat heavy in her chest as she got up.

Root was gone and she had no intention of coming back.


	10. Chapter 9

Shaw got dressed quickly and was banging loudly on the guys’ door, heedless of the early hour and the other guests.

Reese opened the door a fraction, gun in one hand as he peered out.

"We have a problem," said Shaw.

Reese gestured for her to come in and she spied Harold, awake, his hair sticking up wildly as he put his glasses on and stood up awkwardly.

"Root's gone," said Shaw.

"What?" said Harold, looking more alert than ever. "What do you mean gone?"

"I mean she took off, Finch," Shaw snapped angrily.

"How could you let this happen?" said Harold, looking angrier than she had ever seen him.

Shaw clenched her jaw but didn't say anything. _Because I let her get to me_.

"Finch, maybe we shouldn't be passing blame around," said Reese reasonably.

"And what about when Root kills someone?" said Harold. "Who should we blame then?"

"She won't," Shaw said.

"You know that for a fact, Miss Shaw?"

 _No_ , she thought, remembering the way Root had said _not yet_ outside of the gas station when Shaw had asked her if she was planning on killing someone. But out loud she said: "Yes."

"We need to find her," Harold said.

"If Root doesn't want to be found, we're not going to," said Reese. "But if she's out for revenge, then she's headed for the same place we are."

"With a four hour head start," Shaw pointed out.

"I say we stick to the plan. Keep heading for New York," said Reese.

"Alright," Harold agreed. "But I suggest we leave now."

Shaw waited outside as they got dressed, watching the sun rise in the sky and trying not to think about Root, trying to forget the way she had felt and sounded lying beneath Shaw. Tried not to think about how reckless she could be and the danger she was more than likely to get herself in.

Shaw searched her jacket, but the back-up piece Reese had given her was gone and she knew Root had taken it. At least she had some protection. There was something else missing too, and it took her awhile to figure out what it was. _The Order of Lenin,_ she thought. But this wasn't her original jacket and she must have lost it somewhere in the middle of the desert after she'd gotten shot. Shaw swore under her breath, the promise she had failed to keep hanging heavy on her heart and she felt like she had let Gen down somehow.

That coupled with everything else, set Shaw's anger off, and she punched the wall, again and again, with a blind fury that masked the pain of the skin above her knuckles cracking and bleeding and only stopped when she ran out of energy, leaning back against the wall breathing heavily.

The motel room door opened and Harold limped out with Bear. He barely cast a glance at her as he headed for the car. He was furious at her, disappointed, and it showed.

"Don't worry about him," said Reese, handing her a bandage to wrap up her hand. "He'll get over it."

Her knuckles stung as she wrapped the bandage around them, but she relished in it and it didn't hurt nearly as much as the feeling in her chest, like she was struggling for breath.

"You want to tell me what happened last night?" Reese asked as they watched Finch struggle to get Bear in the car.

"What do you mean?" Shaw asked.

"She play you?" Reese asked, looking at her like he knew everything.

"No," said Shaw, but it didn't sound convincing even to her own ears. She tried to tell herself that last night hadn't felt like a goodbye, that Root hadn't planned it that way. _That she hadn't played her._ But she didn't believe it.

But then she remembered the way Root had felt beneath her, the way she looked at her, like she couldn't quite believe that it was them, that she was awed by it. _That_ had been real, Shaw was sure of it.

"Okay," said Reese eventually and led her to the car.

Shaw took her customary place in the backseat, but it felt empty and cold without Root sitting beside her. Bear wasted no time jumping up beside her, resting his head in her lap and she patted him behind the ears absently as Reese drove them out of the motel parking lot.

She was too wired to sleep, and she watched out the window, alert and brooding, ignoring the dull throb in her hand. Her gut wound had started to ache too. She never did get those fresh bandages or see how much damage they had done last night. But she suspected it wasn't that bad, so she ignored the pain and latched onto her anger instead. It felt good. Anger she could deal with. Everything else... Well, she didn't want to think about that.

They were just about to head onto the highway when Reese spotted something up ahead and stopped the car. Shaw leaned forward to look between the two front seats, Bear whining as his head slipped from her lap. Up ahead were two black SUVs, tinted windows.

"Decima," said Reese gravely. "This is an ambush."

"How did they find us?" asked Finch. His face taking on that worried look he always got when violence was about to happen.

"Root," said Shaw with a cold, hard certainty. "To slow us down."

Reese glanced at her for a second before turning back to face the SUVs, nodding slightly. "We'll find another way around," he said, putting the car in reverse.

"No," said Shaw. "They'll have road blocks on every road out of town. We don't have time," she added, thinking about Root and her four hour head start that was rapidly turning into five. "Give me a gun."

"Miss Shaw, I really don't think..." Harold began, but Shaw ignored him and held her hand out expectantly to Reese. He looked at her carefully for a moment and she wondered what he could see. How much of a state was she in? She had been feeling better than she had been in days, but she knew she still wasn't up to her full strength. But she had to do this. If she didn't shoot something soon she was going to scream.

Reese must have seen something in her look because he handed her a gun and they stepped out of the car simultaneously.

"What do you think? Bullet proof windows?" said Reese, handing her a spare magazine.

"Probably," Shaw said, checking the clip on her gun.

"Shoot out the tires to get their attention?"

Shaw nodded and they split up, heading for opposite sides of the road. Shaw ducked behind a low wall for cover, waited until Reese was in position. He signalled to her that he was ready and she took out the tires on her side and quickly took cover, listening carefully. She could hear car doors opening, men shouting. Then gunfire, a lot of it.

Bullets whizzed past her head, some of them clipping the wall, sending shards of stone and dust flying around her. She waited for a lull in gunfire then took aim. Two guys down before they even noticed her. And - Harold would be proud - kneecaps only even though she felt like taking them all out.

When the gunfire ceased, Shaw stepped cautiously out from behind her cover. All the Decima agents were down, some unconscious, some wriggling about in agony.

"Feeling better?" Reese asked, coming up behind her.

"No," Shaw said, staring at the blood flooding the street. She didn't think she'd ever feel better again. "Let's go find Root."

*

New York wasn't like Shaw remembered. People hurried up and down the streets, darting between the buildings for cover like they would during a thunderstorm. Except it wasn't raining. And there were more cops on the streets than Shaw had ever seen before. But even they looked different. People looked scared.

"This is just like after 9/11," Harold said. His voice was barely above a whisper, like he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

"Without someone chasing down irrelevant numbers," said Reese, "crime rates have gone up."

"That and whatever Samaritan was doing," Shaw added.

They deliberated where to go and in the end decided on the usual safe house. It was buried under about ten different aliases so they didn't think Decima would know about it.

Harold remained quiet for the rest of the journey and hobbled out of the car without saying a word to either of them.

"How long do you think he's gonna stay mad at me?" Shaw asked.

Reese shrugged. "How long are you going to stay mad at Root?"

"I'm always mad at Root," she said quietly, but she could see his point. Sort of. Finch would stop being mad at her when he stopped feeling guilty for everything else. And she'd stop being mad at Root probably… well, never.

They followed Harold up to the safe house, Reese bringing Bear along. It was strange being back after so long and she didn't remember the place looking so...untidy.

She glanced at Reese; clearly thinking the same thing as his hand moved to rest on his gun as they stepped through the threshold. Shaw saw movement to her left and she raised her gun before she could get a proper look at the intruder.

"Wait! Don’t shoot. It's me," said the figure, hands wildly covering a panic stricken face.

"Lionel?" said Shaw and Reese at the same time. Shaw rolled her eyes and put her gun away.

"What are you doing here, Fusco?" Reese said. "And what are you wearing?" he added, scrunching his face up in disgust.

Fusco was dressed in nothing but Spiderman underwear and a badly fitting white tank top.

"Nice boxers," said Shaw with a smirk.

"They were a gift from Lee," Fusco snapped, grabbing a couch cushion to cover up his modesty.

"Didn't think they made those in his size," Reese muttered in her ear.

Fusco grumbled in annoyance.

"Perhaps, Detective," said Harold from behind Shaw and Reese, "you would be so kind as to put some pants on?"

"Huh?" said Fusco, looking confused for a moment, "uh, yeah," and disappeared into the other room.

Shaw took the opportunity to suss out if there was any booze left in the safe house after eight months lying empty. But Fusco looked to still be on the wagon and she found a bottle of decent Scotch and poured herself a large measure. Harold frowned at her as she downed her glass and immediately poured another, but he didn't say anything. But she could feel the disproval directed at her from the other end of the room.

Fusco returned as she was sipping her second drink, dressed thankfully, and looking affronted at their presence.

"Where the hell have you guys been?" he asked. "I thought you were dead."

"Had to lie low for a while, Lionel," said Reese apologetically as he took a seat on the couch.

"Oh, because that's not cryptic," Fusco replied.

"What are you doing here, Fusco?" said Shaw.

"Have you been out there lately?" Fusco asked, pointing out the window.

"We've been out of town," said Reese.

"It's like the ’64 Race Riots out there," said Fusco.

"Still doesn't explain what you're doing here," said Shaw swallowing the last of her drink.

"Someone tossed my apartment over. Figured this would be a safe place to stay. That was until you three showed up," he added, eyeing Shaw and Reese warily.

"What about Lee?" Reese asked.

"He's in Philly with his mother," said Fusco. "You think I'd let him stay in the city after that attack downtown? No way. Things around here were bad enough before that."

"How bad?" asked Shaw, exchanging a dark look with Reese.

Fusco looked at her carefully. "Let's just say things were nicer when HR and the Russians were still around. Now are we done with the interrogation? I think it's time you told me where _you_ guys have been."

"Long story, Lionel," said Reese, "and one we don't have time for."

"We need your help to find Root," said Shaw.

"Coco Puffs?" said Fusco. "What's tall, batshit and crazy got herself into this time?"

Shaw gritted her teeth in annoyance. "You going to help us or not?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're not going to give me much choice."

“Because I’m not,” said Shaw, patting her gun with a smirk.

"I hardly think that's necessary, Miss Shaw," said Harold and she wondered if he was going to call her out on every single thing she did, with that look of disproval that was starting to get on her nerves. As if he was completely innocent of everything.

"We need you to find the location of a company called Decima Technologies," said Reese. "They'll probably be buried underneath several sock companies."

"Oh sure," said Fusco, "I'll just wave my magic wand and get right on that. Did I not mention to you the riots going on out there? I'm a little busy."

"That why you're sitting around here in your underwear?" asked Shaw.

Fusco glared. "Some of us need to sleep," he said, staring at her pointedly.  Shaw wasn't sure, but she got the feeling she had just been insulted in some way.

"Lionel, this company _is_ responsible for the riots going on out there," said Reese.

"Not to mention that bomb that went off," said a voice from the door that Shaw immediately recognised.

Shaw was up and had her gun out faster than she blinked, Reese not far behind her.

"Control," Shaw spat, glaring at her former boss as she stood casually in the doorway. "You've got about five seconds to explain what you're doing here before I put a bullet in your brain."

"Who the hell is she?" said Fusco.

"Not now, Lionel," said Reese.

"What do you mean Decima is responsible for the bomb going off?" asked Harold, taking a step closer to Control, much to Shaw's annoyance. Reese didn't like it either and he took a few steps forward until he was partially in front of Finch, his body ready to shield him if necessary.

"I'm sorry," said Control, but she didn't sound sorry at all. "But I find it _so_ difficult to talk with guns pointed in my face."

Finch gestured for them both to lower their weapons, but neither of them moved.

"You're kidding me, right Finch?" said Shaw. "This is _Control_."

"Yes," said Harold, "and I'm sure if she had wanted to, she would have killed us all by now. So please, lower your weapons."

Shaw stared hard at her former boss. "If you so much as breathe wrong-"

"Yes, you'll shoot me," Control said. "I'm well aware of your methods, Agent Shaw."

Shaw debated with herself for one last moment then lowered gun, keeping it close at hand though in case Control tried something.

"Please," said Harold, "have a seat." Always the gentleman.

Both Shaw and Reese remained standing, their eyes never leaving the head of the ISA. She looked the same as the last time Shaw saw her – calm and collected, completely indifferent to the fact that there were two people in the room who would quite happily put a bullet in her. She hadn’t even come with a security detail.  Shaw wondered what it _would_ take to get under Control's skin. The woman never even flinched when Vigilance kidnapped her and put her on trial eight months ago. Then again, Shaw supposed, you didn't become the head of a secret government agency by being jumpy.

Control took Finch's proffered seat and Harold sat opposite her, flanked either side by Shaw and Reese. Fusco stood behind Control, looking thoroughly confused but having the sense to keep his mouth shut.

"I’d offer you a drink," said Shaw, "but I kind of hate you."

Control said nothing, but her smirk was enough to set Shaw's tightly coiled anger off again and it took all of her self-control not to put a bullet between her former boss’s eyes.

"You want to tell us how you found this place?" Reese asked.

"Your boy here isn't exactly hard to follow," Control said, gesturing behind her. Fusco held up his hands innocently when three pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

"Nice one, Fusco," Shaw muttered.

"We figured one of you would show up eventually," Control continued. "We had eyes out front watching ever since."

"And what, precisely," asked Harold, "is it that you want?"

"To protect my country," said Control. "It's all I've ever wanted."

The other woman looked so sincere that for a moment Shaw almost forgot who she was. Even if Control was a patriot, it didn't excuse some of the things that she had done. _Like try to have me and Harold killed. And Root’s stapedectomy_ … But Shaw pushed that thought away before it could go any further. Besides, it wasn't like Shaw was totally innocent. She had worked for the Activity for years, blindly following Control's orders. Orders that had eventually gotten Cole killed. That was another thought she didn't like to dwell on, and she locked it away along with Root in a corner of her mind where she didn't have to deal with it.

"What did you mean Decima were responsible for that bomb?" Reese asked.

"I'm going to assume you know Samaritan has been shut down," said Control. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you three had something to do with it."

"No comment," said Reese with a shrug.

Control ignored him. "When the system failed and the relevant numbers stopped coming in, the government refused to allow the set-up of another machine."

"So what happened?" asked Shaw.

"Decima decided to show them just how necessary Samaritan was."

 _One hundred and four_ , Shaw thought. It was like the building after the trial all over again.

"Sounds like Greer's up to his old tricks," said Reese, echoing her thoughts.

"That does not, however," said Harold, "explain why you are here." It was the first time he had spoken in a while and Shaw could tell those one hundred and four deaths were still weighing heavily on him.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," said Control, "but I need your help."

"And what makes you think we'd help _you_?" said Shaw disdainfully.

"Because this isn't about me," said the other woman shooting Shaw a look of contempt. "This is about saving innocent lives. Isn't that your purpose, Agent Shaw?"

Shaw didn't say anything to that, not entirely sure what her purpose was anymore. It was so lost to the maze of running and hiding that she wasn't sure she'd ever find it again.

"Please," said Harold when Control continued to stare long and hard at Shaw, "continue."

"Decima plan on bringing Samaritan back online," said Control. "Tonight."

Harold and Reese exchanged worried looks, but neither of them looked very surprised by the idea either.

"And you're telling us this because?" asked Shaw.

"Because I know where Decima are storing the new servers," said Control.

"And you want us to stop them from bringing it online?" Reese guessed.

"No," said the head of the ISA. "I want you to take control of it."

*

“This is a bad idea,” said Shaw for what felt like the hundredth time. Every instinct was screaming at her not to trust Control but, in the end, Harold had made the final decision. Shaw never thought she would have seen her current boss teaming up with her old one. But there it was.

Control gave them the location of Samaritan’s new servers and asked Harold if he knew what he needed to do from his end in order to make it a closed system. It was all just technobabble to Shaw, but Harold nodded resolutely and began to set up laptops on the safe house’s dining room table, with the air of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and on a mission that he was determined on completing.

Samaritan had been an open system - it took commands and gave orders, and that's what Decima were hoping to replicate with their new servers. But Control was adamant that they could not allow that to happen. That to have an open system again would be too much power.

"And Greer's all about power," Control said.

But Shaw wasn't too sure she liked the idea of a closed system Samaritan either.

"You know this means no more irrelevant numbers," Reese muttered to her, clearly thinking the same thing she was.

"Then I guess it looks like we'll both be out of a job when this is over," Shaw said.

"I tried retirement once," said Reese conversationally.

"Oh yeah," said Shaw. "How did that work out for you?"

Reese shrugged. "Ended up working for Finch." The way he said it made it sound like working for Finch had been an inconvenience, but his look said the exact opposite. They both knew what retirement meant in their line of work. You didn’t grow old and take up knitting as a hobby when you worked for secret government agencies and chased after bad guys for a living. You stopped working when someone put a bullet in you.

"Retirement is for wimps anyway," said Shaw.

Even when she was preparing her arsenal, packing enough heat to take on a small army, Shaw still had a bad feeling about the whole thing. She didn't trust Control. Neither did Reese, but he trusted Harold and Harold was taking the leap of faith by taking Control at her word.

Fusco, on the other hand, was just doing as he was told.  "When this is all over, you all have a lot of explaining to do," he said.

Control left them to it, never one to get her hands dirty if she could help it. But she didn't leave without getting one last jab in at them all.

"Oh, and by the way," she said turning to face them in the doorway. "My guys spotted your little hacker friend making her way to Decima's HQ. So it looks like Greer might be taken out of the equation after all. That is," Control added with a devilish smirk, " _if_ she makes it in alive."

Shaw felt her heart go still in her chest and she could feel Reese watching her closely. But she ignored them both, put up the casual front that everything was fine, that her mind hadn't just played out a dozen different scenarios of Root getting herself killed.

"We should go," said Reese eventually.

Shaw followed him and Fusco out the door wordlessly. They were on the clock; Decima were planning on bringing Samaritan back online in less than two hours and the immediacy of the situation was felt by all of them. Harold wished them luck, his voice tinny and familiar as it came through Shaw's earpiece. Just like old times, when they were chasing down simple irrelevant numbers, before the world had gone to hell. But her life had never been simple. Not even before she met Reese and Finch. And it got ten times more complicated when she met Root.

Root, who was always finding ways to get under Shaw’s skin, when most people would have been swayed by Shaw’s glare alone. Root, who Shaw, against her better judgement, had spent the night with having what Shaw was starting to reluctantly admit was the most mind-blowing sex she had ever had. Root, who had ran out on her without a word to go seek out revenge against the man responsible for killing her God.

And, despite that, after everything, Shaw didn’t regret it.

 _I can’t believe you’re real._ Shaw hadn’t understood what Root was saying at the time, and part of her still didn’t, but the way Root had said it, the look of sadness and regret in her eyes… Root knew she was going to die, that she wasn’t coming back from this.

They were almost at the car when Shaw stopped dead in her tracks. Both Reese and Fusco turned to look at her.

"She's going to get herself killed," was all Shaw could manage to say, her voice barely above a whisper. But it was enough for Reese to understand and he looked at her carefully for a moment, as if he was trying to determine something, way up the odds of just him and Fusco going after the servers on their own.

"Shaw," said Reese slowly, "she made her choice."

But that didn't mean it was necessarily the right one, and it didn't necessarily mean that Shaw had to accept it. Because no matter how complicated her life was, no matter how complicated this thing with Root was, Shaw wasn't about to let her die, not when there was still something she could do about it.

Eventually Reese nodded. "Go."

"Am I missing something here?" Fusco asked, looking between the two of them.

"Shut up, Lionel," both Shaw and Reese said at the same time.

Reese tossed Shaw the car keys. "Come on, Lionel, we're taking your car."

"But-"

"Let’s move, Lionel," said Reese, dragging the detective away.

Shaw watched them leave until they disappeared around the corner then hopped into the car.

"Finch," she said through her earpiece, "I'm going dark."

"Miss Shaw, I really don't think-"

But she clicked him off before she could hear the rest of it. She knew what he was going to say anyway, that he was going to try and talk her out of it. But she didn't want to hear it. Because part of her knew that he _could_. That Harold could convince her to go with Reese and Fusco because that was the right thing to do. Even if Root was on her way to kill Greer, the risk to innocent lives if Decima got control of Samaritan again was far greater than the risk of Root going AWOL.

And frankly, Shaw didn't care. She'd had enough chasing after and working for machines.

And if anybody was going to be killing Root, it was going to be Shaw.

 


	11. Interlude 2

_1.36 hours until system reinstallation_

"Finch, I'm going dark."

"Miss Shaw, I really don't think that's-" But the line went dead. "A good idea," Harold mumbled quietly to himself. Although he wasn't entirely surprised by Shaw's decision, he had hoped she would have gone with Reese and Fusco. They were stretched entirely too thin, the odds stacked against them and Harold worried for all of them. Even Root.

Something had changed between Root and Shaw's relationship, even Harold had seen it, although he had pretended not to. He had hoped it would quell Root's more violent tendencies when Shaw woke up from her injuries. But then again, violence never was really solved with violence.

He realised now that perhaps he had been a little too harsh with Shaw in his anger. But she had been an easy target to take out all his guilt on.

Perhaps he should have taken it out on himself.

Because he still questioned his decisions, right from building the Machine to trusting Control. And even now, with Reese and Fusco on their way to stop Samaritan, Harold still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. All he knew was that he couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep hiding and living in fear. Samaritan wasn't his creation, it didn't care about people like the Machine had, but if it could watch and listen, could sense the danger and alert the government to threats before they occurred, then Harold would take it. Because even if there were no more irrelevant numbers, at least they could stop the worst of it.

Control had given him the information he needed to access Samaritan's systems remotely, so for now it was just a waiting game until Reese and Fusco reached the site. Harold sat surrounded by computers, his home away from home, his niche, and waited, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.

Tried not to think about all the mistakes he had made.

"Okay, Finch, we're in," said Reese over the earpiece about an hour later.

"Be careful, Mr Reese," said Harold, a warning that had left his lips on so many other occasions, but never before had Harold felt so intently the need for them.

"Okay, Finch," said Reese a few minutes later. "What am I doing with this thing?"

"Just hook the device up like I showed you," said Harold wishing he was there to do it himself.

"That’s it," said Reese. "You got access yet?"

"Establishing connection now," said Harold, typing eagerly on the keyboards surrounding him as new information rapidly appeared on his screens. Four laptops in total, all set up to confuse Decima's security systems so that Harold could hack his way in and gain access to Samaritan's operating systems.

It was easier than Harold had been expecting, a little _too_ easy, but any concerns he had that this was some kind of trap quickly dissipated as computer code began to flash across all four computer screens.

"Oh my," said Harold. He recognised that code. It was _his_ code.

Harold stared at the computer screens, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Then they all suddenly became blank again, the retinal afterimage the only thing convincing Harold that he hadn't made the whole thing up.

Then the screens began to fill again. The same two words over and over again.

_Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin...Hello Admin… Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin... Hello Admin...Hello Admin…_

"Finch," said Reese over the earpiece. "You’re not going to believe what I'm seeing."

Harold continued to stare at his computer screens for a moment, Reese's voice a faraway echo before he snapped back to reality.

"I think I might," Harold muttered.

 

 _0.44 hours until system_ _reinstallation_

"You know, as much as I find Shaw to be a pain in the ass," said Fusco, "I’d much rather she was going into this heavily armed fortress with us."

"Relax, Lionel," said Reese. "It's not that heavily armed." But even as he said it, Reese spotted four armed guards out front.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" said Fusco.

"Nope," said Reese and got out of the car. He didn’t really know what ‘it’ was all about himself and most of him didn’t really want to know anyway. But he knew Shaw would have been useless coming with them if she was constantly worrying about Root. Reese shook his head, not surprised at all that Root had fled the first chance she got. He just wished Shaw hadn’t got caught in the cross fire.

Reese had been watching the guards for the past twenty minutes, assessing their routine, their weakest point. He gestured for Fusco to follow him as he made his way to the side of the building, avoiding the security cameras that Control had warned them about. The entire building was surrounded by a high chain link fence. Fortunately, it wasn't electric, and Reese was able to cut his way through it, a hole big enough for them both to fit through.

"Stay behind me," Reese said quietly, darting to the side of the building and keeping within the shadows. From his recon he knew that one of the guards would be coming this way on his rounds in about thirty seconds. Reese was ready for him and the guard didn't notice him or Fusco when Reese hit him on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

"Tie him up," said Reese, handing Fusco a couple of zip ties.  He removed the guard’s security jacket and cap, taking the guy’s radio as well for good measure.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" said Fusco, tying the unconscious guard’s hands behind his back.

Reese shrugged. "Hide him in the bushes. Wait here," he added.

Now dressed in security uniform, Reese confidently made his way round the front. Two guards remained at the entrance at all times, with the other two making rounds around the perimeter of the building. Reese walked right past the two stationary guards, keeping his head ducked low as he rounded the other corner without either one of them batting him an eyelid.

"So much for high-end security," Reese muttered to himself.

The third guard was about fifty meters in front of him when Reese rounded the corner and he sped up his pace, grabbing the guard around the throat from behind when he caught up with him. Reese squeezed until the security guard slumped unconscious in his arms and Reese dropped him to the ground with a heavy thump.

_Two down, two to go._

The two front guards were still in position when Reese peered around the corner again.

"Hey," he called out, his face hidden in shadow. "Need some help over here."

The two guards immediately rushed towards him, Reese slipping around the corner before either one of them could see his face.

Their eyes immediately fell on the unconscious form on the ground, but before either of them could reach for their radios, Reese shot them both in the kneecaps, his silencer muffling the shots. The two guards dropped to the ground beside their colleague and Reese zip tied all three of them up, keeping them hidden from the security cameras and any other prying eyes that happened to walk this way.

Reese stripped one of the guards of his security uniform and returned to Fusco. "Here, put this on."

Fusco eyed the jacket warily but put it on without argument. "You gonna tell me what this is really about?" he asked as he placed the ill-fitting cap on top of his head.

"Not yet," said Reese. "It's better if you don't know."

"You know that doesn't exactly fill me with great confidence, right?" said Fusco but Reese ignored him.

They entered the building from a side door; Control had provided them with the passcode. Reese didn't like it, and he thought for one moment that it wasn't going to work. That this was all a trap and that Decima would be all over them in seconds. But when Reese punched in the passcode, no alarm bells blared and the door unlocked with a click.

"That was a little easy," muttered Fusco.

"Yes," Reese agreed. This whole thing had been a little too easy, minimal security surrounding the building, blind spots in the security cameras. It felt like a trap.

"Okay, Finch, we're in," said Reese.

"Be careful, Mr Reese."

Reese and Fusco headed down to the sub-basement where, according to Control, the servers were being kept. They met no resistance on the way, the place eerily empty as they walked through the corridors until they reached the security door that led to stairs down to the server room. Reese punched in another security code, and again they got through the door without any alarms going off.

"So that woman," said Fusco, "who gave you all these passcodes - who is she?"

"She works for the government," said Reese.

"Doing what?" Fusco asked.

Reese stopped and stared at him for a moment. "You don't want to know. Here," he added, stopping in front of a power relay box. Reese used a pen knife to prise it open, revealing a mesh of wires and circuitry.

"Okay, Finch," said Reese. "What am I doing with this thing?"

"Just hook the device up like I showed you," said Harold.

Reese did as he was told, taking the small device out of his pocket and hooking it up to the wires in front of him. It was trickier than he had been anticipating and Fusco kept glancing at him worriedly, gesturing for him to hurry it up. Reese worked as fast as he could with the small black device, similar in size and shape to a cell phone and ultimately having the same function. According to Finch, this little plastic box would allow him access to Samaritan's systems.

Reese took his word for it.

"That’s it," said Reese. "You got access yet?"

"Establishing connection now, Mr Reese."

Reese almost said something in reply, but Fusco chose that moment to start gesturing wildly at him. _Someone up ahead_ , he mouthed.

Reese nodded and followed Fusco cautiously up the corridor. The lighting was dim so Reese didn't get a good look at the other person until they were right on top of him.

But Reese recognised the young man as soon as they were close enough, dressed in a white lab coat and fake ID badge to match.

"Don’t shoot," said Reese, lowering his gun and gesturing for Fusco to do the same, as words tumbled out of the young man’s mouth in rapid Japanese.

"Slow down. Daizo, right?" said Reese, recognising the former member of Root's little gang of geeks. "What are you doing here?"

"You know this kid?" said Fusco.

"Sort of," said Reese. The kid look terrified and his English was too patchy for Reese to get a decent answer out of him.

"Don't move," said a voice behind Reese and he felt the hardness of a gun barrel between his shoulder blades.

"Jason Greenfield," said Reese, chancing a glance behind him. He didn't think Greenfield had the stomach to shoot him and judging by the way the hacker's hand was trembling, Reese's instincts were probably right.

"You know these guys?" said Fusco.

"Not exactly," said Reese. To Greenfield he said, "I'm going to assume Daniel Casey is somewhere here too?"

Greenfield nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Funny," said Reese, but he wasn't laughing, "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Greenfield gestured for them to follow and led them into a large room housing what looked to be a hundred servers. Or at least what Reese presumed to be servers. Daniel Casey was crouched down in front of one, messing with its insides.

"We're almost finished," Greenfield said, lowering his gun now that he had determined Reese and Fusco were not a threat.

"Finished doing what?" asked Reese.

"Honestly," said Greenfield, watching as Casey closed the front of the server and clicked it back into place. "We're not sure."

Reese raised an eyebrow, wondering if this had been part of Control's plan. But he didn't think the ISA had been aware of Root's little band of nerds.

"Two weeks ago, the three of us were each sent one of these," Greenfield explained. He held up a small rectangular black box.

"An external hard drive?" Fusco asked.

Greenfield nodded and handed the hard drive over to Casey so he could place it in one of the other servers. "They all had nothing but computer code on them."

"Code that didn't make sense," Casey added, his voice muffled slightly as his head was currently in a server.

"Not until we put all three together," Greenfield finished.

"Computer code for what?" Fusco asked with a frown, but Reese was starting to get an idea where this was going.

"Some sort of AI system," said Greenfield.

Daizo said something in Japanese. Reese only caught a few of the words and he turned to Greenfield for an explanation.

"He says to tell you about these," said Greenfield, lifting up the ID badge attached to his lab coat. "We got these sent with the hard drives. Started working here the next day under new aliases."

"Someone planned for the three of you to meet here?" Reese guessed. "That code - it’s going to override Samaritan, isn't it?"

Greenfield nodded. "If it works."

"Well," said Casey. "We're about to find out."

Casey closed the last of the servers and they all watched as the columns of blue lights flickered. Around them, all the servers started to hum to life. Reese and Fusco glanced at each other, neither of them sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"It worked!" said Casey sounding as surprised as Daizo and Greenfield looked.

"What worked?" said Fusco.

Reese clicked his earpiece on, suddenly very sure that taking over control of Samaritan was no longer an option. "Finch, you're not going to believe what I'm seeing here..."

 

_0.22 hours until system reinstallation._

Decima's HQ looked like any other nondescript office building, tall high-rise with glass windows and badly functioning air conditioning. Decima Technologies had bought out the entire building, but only two floors of the six hundred foot skyscraper actually housed Decima itself. The other offices were all just a front - empty for most of the time, but occasionally rented out for six months or so, never longer than a year. Nobody stayed long. And nobody knew about the two sub-basement floors housing Decima Technologies.

But Root did.

The Machine had told her, months ago when She was planning contingencies before Samaritan first came online, only ever giving Root just enough information to carry out Her orders, to survive.

So here she was, carrying out the last mission the Machine had given her. To what end, Root did not know. But she trusted the Machine and she would carry out Her last orders even if it was the last thing Root did.

Because that was how the Machine had worked at times; never quite giving Root enough information to hang herself with. The Machine had liked to let Root figure out the bigger picture on her own, and part of Root suspected the Machine was testing her - testing her loyalty and her intelligence.

Decima's front security was pitiful - but then again, Root supposed, who needed security guards when you had a God watching over you? But Samaritan had been shut down for almost two weeks, so she was cautious as she entered the front of the building. One guard sat behind the front desk, a screen of security cameras in front of him. Root walked up to the desk, flashing the guard her most charming smile. It fooled him long enough for her to get her Taser out and shock him until he lost consciousness.

She left the guy breathing and Root didn't know why, if she was doing it for Harold or the Machine. It wasn’t like either of them were watching anymore. But something stilled her hand and she let him live. Because a killer wasn't who she was anymore. She'd still kill when it was necessary, to protect a life or her own. But killing this guard wasn't necessary. So she left him, tied up and unconscious and left to find her real target.

Because killing Greer _was_ necessary.

Getting access to the sub-basement was easy and if she had been thinking straight she would have sensed something was off the minute the elevator doors opened to reveal the offices of Decima's HQ. They were empty bar the lonely figure in the centre office, his back to her.

"Miss Groves," said John Greer, "I've been expecting you."

Root didn't let his calm and arrogant demeanour faze her. This was the second time she had come face to face with this man with a gun in her hand and, like then, she was more than ready to end his life.

Greer turned to face her and, despite the dim lighting in the office, she could see every line on his face, betraying his age.

"If you are here to stop Samaritan," said Greer coldly, "you're too late."

"I like to think I've still got a bit of time left," said Root, although not much longer if she had her timings right. Except that wasn't her mission, and she had to force herself to stick to the Machine's plan, to distract Greer - kill him if necessary - until... until what, she wasn't sure. The Machine hadn't told her that part of the plan.

Greer laughed, but it lacked any humour and he stared at her long and hard as if he could see right through her. "And just what exactly is it, Miss Groves, that you hope to achieve here?" said Greer. "You should have joined me when you had the chance."

"No," said Root, the gun still steady in her hand. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Ah," said Greer, as if it all now suddenly made perfect sense. "Is that what you're here for?"

"I would have thought that were obvious," said Root, waving the gun slightly in his direction.

"And yet," said Greer slowly, "you still haven't shot me. Why is that, I wonder?"

Root didn't have an answer to give. She was wondering the same thing.

"Has Harold Finch's team of little heroes got to you?" Greer asked with a hint of disbelief. "Do you think you're one of them now?"

"Shut up," said Root. Because there was a hint of truth to his words. Harold's team had gotten to her, in more ways than one, and all of them in their own special ways. Harold with his moral guidance, Reese with his fierce loyalty, and Shaw...

Shaw who - on those rare occasions when she wasn't glaring at everything and everyone - looked at her like she cared, like Root mattered.

And that wasn't something Root wasn't used to seeing.

But Root tried not to think about Shaw, how much it _hurt_ just remembering the feel of her. And she didn't like to think about what she had done, how she had left things and how Shaw must have taken it.

She pushed all those thoughts away and focused on Greer.

Because she wasn't one of them and she never could be.

He laughed again and she suddenly felt very afraid - because he wasn't.

"Do they still think you're crazy?" asked Greer.

"I'm not-"

"Yes, they do, don't they?" said Greer. He was taunting her, playing for time. She knew this, yet his words burned her like hot coals.

She cocked the gun, straightened her arm a little but Greer didn't even flinch and she wondered if the dimness of the room was enough to cover up the tremble of her hand, the shine of tears that pricked in her eyes.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, but she couldn't do it. Couldn't squeeze it and end a life.

_You’re better than that._

Shaw's words had seemed like a desperate attempt to appease her at the time and Root hadn't known whether to believe them. But she had listened and she had realised that killing some random innocent guy wasn’t going to solve anything.

But killing Greer was something she had to do, it was necessary... And yet she still hadn't done it. The Machine's last orders echoed in her ears... _Distract Greer for as long as possible. Kill him if you have to._

It wasn't the first time the Machine had gone against its programming and issued a kill order, but that didn't make it any easier.

Her trembling hand had started to shake violently. She may not be part of Harold's team, may not be one of them, but that didn't mean she had to stop trying.

Root lowered the gun and Greer smiled.

"Samaritan will be born again, and you, my dear..." said Greer, revealing the gun he had hidden behind his back. "You won't be alive long enough to see it."

Root didn't give him the satisfaction of closing her eyes, of hiding from death as if she could escape it.

But gunfire went off before Greer could pull the trigger. He went down hard, his kneecaps suddenly blown to pieces, the gun flying wildly out of his hand.

_Shaw._

She looked angry, more than her usual, as she walked up to Greer and kicked him in the face to knock him out.

"How long were you standing there?" Root asked, a little breathlessly. _How much did you hear?_

"Long enough." Shaw picked up Greer's discarded gun and tucked it in the waistband of her jeans.

"Were you going to shoot me?" Root asked, although she already suspected the answer.

"If I had to," said Shaw. And Root knew that she would have. "Didn't have to," she added,  shrugging nonchalantly.

Shaw was doing a spectacular job of avoiding her eyes. But she came. She came to Root's rescue once again. Root took a step forward, her hand reaching out to the other woman against her will and tried not to flinch when Shaw took a deliberate step back, a cold hard glare directed Root's way.

"Shaw-" Root began, her voice so unlike her own, cracking under the pressure of Shaw's glare.

"We need to go," said Shaw, stepping past her.

"That's it?" said Root. "'We need to go?' Aren't you going to punch me or something?"

Shaw whipped around to face her, like her carefully controlled anger was an elastic band and it had finally snapped under the strain. "Don't tempt me," said Shaw gruffly. "So unless you want to continue your one woman suicide mission, let's go."

"I knew what I was doing," said Root, not moving even as Shaw inched towards the elevator.

"I don't want to hear it," said Shaw.

"The Machine-"

"Stop," Shaw snapped. "Just shut up."

"Why?" said Root, knowing that her words, her incessant need to explain herself, were only fuelling Shaw's anger.

And that's exactly what Root wanted. She knew that if she kept this up, kept taunting her, Shaw would lash out.

"Come on, Sameen," said Root in that sickly sweet way she was so good at. "Hit me."

"You want me to hit you?" said Shaw taking a step forward and Root could see the barely suppressed rage in her eyes. She liked to pretend she could see something akin to hurt in the other woman's eyes too, but Root didn't know if Shaw was even capable of feeling that. Maybe the other night had meant nothing to her, just another passing one night stand in the life of Sameen Shaw. Maybe Shaw was just pissed she'd had to come all the way down here in the middle of the night.

Maybe she never gave a damn after all.

But if Root could make her snap, make Shaw reveal what she was truly feeling in that complex way of hers, then maybe it did mean something after all.

Root stared at the other woman, so close now that Root could reach out and touch her if she wanted to. If Shaw would let her.

Root was crying, she realised, the tears streaming down her face as Shaw continued to glare at her. "I'm sorry," said Root. And she was. For everything. For the Machine. For Shaw and the way she had screwed everything up.

But her apology was the final straw as far as Shaw was concerned.

Root saw the punch coming. Felt Shaw's fist connect with her jaw. Felt the pain radiate outwards. But it was all background noise compared the screeching that started in her left ear, like someone was drilling a hole in her head.

Root cried out and dropped to her knees.

 

_System reinstall initiated…_


	12. Chapter 10

"Oh please, I never even hit you that hard," Shaw said as Root started screaming. But she was clutching the side of her head and not the spot where Shaw's fist had hit her.

Something else was wrong and if Root didn't shut up soon someone was going to find them.

The elevator behind her chose that moment to ding into life and Shaw acted on instinct, clamping a hand over Root's mouth and shoving her into a darkened office.

"Shut up," Shaw hissed. Half the office walls were made of glass and Shaw shoved the other woman behind a desk to keep them both hidden.

Root had her eyes clenched shut in pain, one had clawing at the ear that housed her implant as if she could tear it out with her fingernails. Shaw grabbed her wrist to still her as blood started to well up where she had scratched the skin. She didn't dare remove the hand covering Root's mouth and could hear footsteps from the outer office, cursing under her breath because Greer's unconscious form wasn't exactly hidden. Someone would be looking for them soon.

Shaw strained her ears, listening for the light footfalls that would indicate someone was coming their way. But she heard nothing and she turned her attention back to Root. The hacker was in obvious pain and it had something to do with the cochlear implant in her right ear. Had Greer triggered this somehow? Or was it Samaritan, now fully online again and out of their control?

Whatever it was, Shaw didn't like it.

Root had stopped trying to claw at the implant in her ear and her head was cocked slightly as if she was listening to something. Her jaw had reddened slightly where Shaw had punched her and would probably turn into a nasty bruise come morning. Shaw had regretted the action the moment her closed fist had made contact, and she knew Root had been taunting her on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her and Shaw had given her exactly what she had wanted. But it was better than doing what she had really wanted to do the moment she had laid eyes on Root, still breathing and steeling herself to take a bullet from Greer. Shaw hadn't wanted to punch her, she wanted to grab the other woman by the lapels of her jacket and kiss her senselessly in relief that she wasn't dead yet.

But instead she had latched onto her anger, because it was familiar and safe and something she could deal with.

Root grabbed the wrist of her hand that was still covering her mouth and pulled it away.

"Eleven, one and three o'clock," said Root faintly.

"What?" Shaw began, but then she heard voices behind her and she was up and shooting as Root had directed her. The glass walls of the office shattered, sending a spray of glass in the wake of three bullets that hit their marks. The three Decima agents went down but Shaw suspected there were more on the way.

"We need to go," said Root. She still looked a little shaky, but no longer in pain as she got to her feet.

"Hold on," said Shaw, grabbing Root by the arm as she headed for the door. "We're not going anywhere until you give me an explanation." She didn't know if she meant Root's implant or her reason for coming here in the first place, why she had ran off the other night without a word.

"We don't have time for this," said Root, glancing around the outer office worriedly.

But Shaw held her ground and stared the other woman out until she eventually gave in.

"She says we're in danger," said Root.

"She?" said Shaw. "You mean the Machine?"

"Yes," said Root, and there was a hint of a smile on her face as she said it. "The Machine's alive."

"How?" asked Shaw with mild disbelief.

"We really don't-"

" _How_?" Shaw asked a little more forcefully.

Root sighed and bit her lip. "This was the Machine's plan all along," Root explained, "let Decima think both the Machine and Samaritan had been destroyed, and when they tried to bring Samaritan back online, the Machine came on instead."

"How?" asked Shaw.

Root shrugged. "I wasn't privy to that part of the plan. But She had help. All I was supposed to do was distract Greer so he wouldn't figure it out and stop it."

"Why the hell didn't you just tell us this?" Shaw asked. "Why all the cloak and dagger sneaking off shit? We could have helped." _I could have helped_.

"She wanted me to do it alone," said Root.

"Bullshit," said Shaw, watching the other woman carefully.

Root avoided her eyes. "Shaw..." She shook her head.

"Why?" Shaw asked. It was a loaded question and they both knew it.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," said Root, her voice barely above a whisper. The unspoken _again_ hung in the air between them and Shaw looked away.

_Should have stayed angry. Angry is easy._

But she couldn't. She was still mad, but she no longer felt like the rage was going to consume her, blinding her to everything in front of her. Root looked like crap - exhausted and emotionally drained, like she had given all she had to give. She looked like Shaw felt and she wasn't sure what to do with it. This was new territory for her, maybe it was for both of them, and it was easier for Shaw to pretend it wasn't there, to ignore it. So she acted mad, played up the anger.

_Angry is easy._

"She says we're in danger," said Root, turning to Shaw almost pleadingly. "We _really_ need to go."

Shaw nodded and let Root take the lead, trusting that the Machine knew what it was doing and that its system’s reboot hadn't crossed its wires or something.

Root led them through a back corridor, heading towards a set of stairs that would lead them up and out to the building's lobby. Root grabbed Shaw's arm before they could reach the stairwell, pulling her back around the corner.

"More Decima agents?" Shaw asked quietly.

Root nodded. "May I borrow your gun?"

Shaw scowled. "You already have your own."

"Better with two, remember?" said Root with a weak attempt at a smirk, her usual levity missing.

"Fine," said Shaw, trying not to huff. She handed Root the gun she had taken from Greer and followed Root back around the corner. Root took out the Decima agents with ease, the Machine telling her where to aim. She turned back around, smiling at Shaw, but it quickly faded and turned into a frown.

"What?" said Shaw. "What is it?" Root's head had tilted to the side again and Shaw knew she was receiving information from the Machine.

"John and Lionel are in trouble," said Root hurriedly. "Come on." She grabbed Shaw by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the stairwell.

"They went after Samaritan’s servers," Shaw explained.

"Control betrayed them," said Root as they started to climb the stairs quickly.

"Bitch," Shaw muttered. "You know, we wouldn't have this problem if you had let me kill her."

"I thought we weren't killers anymore?" Root tossed over her shoulder.

"Yeah, well," said Shaw, “for Control I'll make an exception."

She cursed again under her breath. Cursed Control, cursed Harold for trusting her. Cursed herself for not going with Fusco and Reese.

They reached the top of the stairwell and Root paused, looking at her like she knew what Shaw was thinking and Shaw thought she could detect a hint of guilt in the other woman’s eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, as if it had never been there at all.

"They'll be okay," Root assured her. "But we need to hurry. Besides, they have help."

"Help?" asked Shaw, wondering who the hell was even on their side anymore.

"Yes," said Root, "Daizo, Daniel and Jason are with them."

"Your nerd groupies?" asked Shaw in disbelief. "What are they gonna do, talk math at the bad guys?"

Root rolled her eyes and they made their way into the lobby. It was empty, but Root said they needed to avoid the front door, so she took them down another corridor and towards a fire exit.

"Can you disable the alarms, please?" said Root to the Machine. After a beat, Root said, "Thank you," and they made their way out of the fire exit and into an alleyway at the side of the building.

Thankfully, Shaw, always the practical paranoid one, had parked her car three blocks away, so they half ran in that direction, checking behind them for Decima agents. They made it safely and Shaw hopped in the driver’s seat, wasting no time, the tires screeching as she got them out of there.

Shaw clicked her earpiece on. "Finch, Reese is in trouble."

"Miss Shaw?" said Finch in surprise. "Yes, I know. He and Detective Fusco are completely surrounded."

"We're on our way," said Shaw, increasing the pressure of her foot on the accelerator.

"We?" said Finch in relief. "Miss Groves is with you?"

"I'm alright, Harold," said Root. "Thank you for your concern."

"It wasn’t you I was concerned about," Harold muttered. Then added, "The Machine..."

"Yes, Harold," said Root and Shaw could hear the smile in her voice, "She's alive. She's glad you're okay too."

"Yes," said Harold vaguely. "Miss Shaw, what is your ETA?"

"Fifteen minutes," said Shaw.

Fifteen turned out to be ten and only because Root told her to run every red light, the Machine making sure they didn't run into anything or anyone.

They quickly made their way through the building and down towards where Root said Reese and Fusco were; the room now housing the Machine's servers. They passed countless bodies on the way, most with entrance or exit wounds at centre mass.

"These guys are Decima," Shaw stated, searching one of the bodies and finding a Decima Technologies ID badge.

Root nodded.

"Then who the hell has Reese surrounded?"

"I told you, Control betrayed you," said Root.

"ISA agents?" Shaw guessed and sped up her pace. If they were ISA, then they had the same training as her, much more formidable than anything Decima could throw at them. And if they wanted Reese and Fusco dead, then they wouldn't stop until they had accomplished their mission. Shaw slowed down when she heard gunfire and glanced at Root behind her. She had her gun out and nodded at Shaw determinedly.

Shaw's instincts took over, Root beside her with the Machine directing her, the two of them in perfect sync as they took out the ISA agents and made their way over to where Reese and Fusco were cornered. Shaw tried not to think about how she used to be one of them, how she had blindly followed the numbers from Research, never questioning them, not until Cole was killed. Were these guys doing the same? Did they think Reese and Fusco were a threat to national security? It didn't matter, in the end, Shaw thought. If they questioned it, they'd be dead, like her.

Shaw ducked for cover behind a server to change her clip and it was all so eerily familiar, except this time she wasn't in the desert, a hundred feet underground. If she had been anyone else, she might have frozen at that thought. But she was Sameen Shaw; still recovering from an almost fatal bullet wound couldn't slow her down. Maybe that was why she was a little reckless when she turned the corner, her entire body exposed as three ISA agents turned their attention from Reese and onto her, but not before one of them got a shot off and hit Fusco in the chest.

_That_ made Shaw freeze.

She watched as Lionel fell backwards against the wall. Then the wall turned into a server and it was her falling backwards, the blood pouring from her gut as easily as rain pours from the sky. Pain greater than she had ever felt. And cold. So cold.

A hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back behind cover as bullets whizzed by.

Root.

Her eyes had took on a sheen of fear and she looked down at Shaw as she pressed her against the server, as if she were shielding her with her body, as if she were terrified to let go.

"Fusco-" Shaw said.

Root nodded, cocked her head slightly to the right and then inched slowly out from behind the server. She only let out three shots but Shaw knew she had hit her targets, the Machine guiding her hand flawlessly.

"Are you okay?" Root asked and Shaw realised she hadn't moved since watching Fusco take a bullet, frozen in place like some green-faced fresh recruit on his first time out in the field.

"I'm fine," she snapped and pushed Root out of the way so she could get past her. Root let her go, but she could feel worried eyes watching her as she moved towards Fusco. Root's team of nerds were still crouched down low out of sight. Only Jason had a weapon, but he was shaking so much Shaw doubted he had been much use during the gunfight. All three brightened when they saw Root, but Shaw only had eyes for Fusco. He was lying on his back, struggling to breathe. Reese knelt beside him, muttering reassurances. He had been wearing a vest, thank God, but when Reese helped her remove it, it revealed a massive bruise forming across his chest.

"Cracked ribs," Shaw assessed. _Pneumothorax_ , she thought, her other kind of instincts taking over. "Give me your pen knife," she said to Reese as he shifted over to give her better access. He handed the knife to her without a word. "Hold him down," said Shaw and placed two fingers on Fusco's chest, feeling for his ribs and making a small incision about an inch in width between them. Fusco flinched, but Reese held him steady.

"I’m gonna need a pen or something," she said and one appeared in front of her eyes before she had even finished the sentence. Root smiled at her. She had already taken the ink out, leaving a hollow plastic tube that Shaw quickly inserted into Fusco's chest, letting the trapped air out. Shaw listened carefully as Fusco's breathing started to even out, his chest rising and falling steadily again.

"Tape?" said Shaw, and again Root handed it over before she had even asked. "Anyone ever tell you you'd make a good nurse?" said Shaw regretting it almost immediately.

Root smiled wickedly. "Maybe we can play doctors and nurses later."

Shaw glowered, not in the mood for Root's usual innuendo and still too mad at her anyway to enjoy it even if he had wanted to.

Shaw tore a bit of duct tape off with her teeth and secured the tube in place. "That'll do for now, but he needs to get to a hospital."

Reese nodded. "You two," he pointed as Jason and Daniel, "help carry him."

Daniel and Jason each took an arm and half carried, half dragged Fusco. Root took the lead, Reese not far behind, glancing worriedly at Fusco, then at Shaw. And she knew what he was thinking, knew that he was remembering how close they had come to losing _her_ , how Fusco had been lucky and why couldn't Carter have been too.

But life didn't work like that and Shaw tried not to think about how she almost died, tried not to think about how much it had affected the people around her, the closest thing she had to friends, to a family. She tried not to think about the way Root looked at her like she was fragile, like she couldn't believe she was still here. Like she never wanted to let her go.

She tried not to think about Root at all as they made their escape.

_Angry is easy_ , she kept trying to tell herself and latched onto it like an anchor.

*

They didn't all go to the hospital with Fusco - too many questions for six people who were supposed to still be in hiding. Shaw would have offered, if only to steal some supplies for her own injuries and remove the stitches from her arm which had healed up nicely by now. The gut wound would probably need a few more days. But Finch decided for all of them when he called.

The Machine had started spitting out numbers again.

In the end, Daniel, Jason and Daizo took Fusco to the ER and Root gave them the name of a hotel where they could lie low for a while when they were done.

The Machine was giving them more numbers than they could deal with at once, so they decided to split up. Reese looked at Shaw like he might object - maybe he was channelling Finch, maybe he thought she wasn’t up to it yet - but in the end he kept his mouth shut and took his list of numbers from Finch.

Shaw headed back to her own car. She could hear light footfalls behind her; Root following her but keeping her distance. Finch hadn't given her any numbers. Probably still pissed, Shaw thought and she didn't blame him. It had taken a lot for Finch to trust Root and it would take a lot for her to build it back up again.

Root kept trailing her all the way to the car and Shaw turned to face her with one hand on the driver’s door. "What?" Shaw snapped.

"She wants me to go with you," said Root by way of an explanation.

"Oh, She does, does She?" Shaw said, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "Why?"

Root shrugged.

Shaw shook her head, pretty sure that this Machine of theirs had one sick sense of humour. "Fine," she snapped eventually, getting in the car and waiting for Root to do the same before starting the engine.

"Shaw-" Root began and Shaw could tell by the way her eyes and softened that she was going to say something they would both regret. Something about their night together and more excuses about why Root had left. More apologies than Shaw knew what to do with.

"Don't," said Shaw. "Do me a favour and keep your mouth shut for the foreseeable future."

Root must have sensed something in her tone (or maybe she had just finally given up) because she clamped her mouth shut and looked away without saying another word.

Shaw sighed in relief. _Angry is easy._

The numbers were run of the mill, nothing too complicated, but Shaw relished in it. It felt good to be doing something again, helping people.

It felt vaguely like they were cleaning up a city that had allowed itself to fall into disrepair, and in many ways they were. Things had been bad with Samaritan and Shaw hadn't realised just how bad until she was roaming the streets again, letting it seep into her skin along with the rest of the city's pollution.

Most of the numbers were petty thefts and drug deals, the city's criminal element seizing the opportunity to do as much damage as possible whilst the police were still busy with the endless rioting. These were the crimes they didn't usual deal with, and to Shaw it felt like the Machine was making up for lost time, like it was trying to repent itself after being offline and dormant for so long. Maybe they all were. Because hadn't they been the ones that let it come to this, when they failed to stop Samaritan in the first place? But they had taken the higher ground; they had spared the congressman's life and thwarted any chance of stopping Samaritan.

She thought about asking Root if the Machine felt guilty (could it even feel?) but they had lapsed into a sullen silence with each other. Root hadn't even bothered to get out of the car whilst Shaw dealt with the numbers, just sat there with an odd look on her face that Shaw couldn't decipher, watching her carefully as she punched and kicked and shot her way through the city, leaving a trail of bad guys zip tied for the NYPD to clean up after her.

Shaw made her way back to the car after securing another number - some idiot who thought it was a good idea to flash himself to woman as they passed him on the street.

"Don't you think that was a little excessive?" said Root, as Shaw got behind the wheel.

Shaw shrugged. "Asshole deserved it," she said, wiping the blood from her knuckles where they'd caught against the guy's teeth when she had punched him repeatedly. They had still been ragged from when she punched the wall the other morning and now her entire right hand was throbbing painfully. "Besides, maybe your Machine thought he was about to escalate."

"And that justifies breaking his jaw?" asked Root.

"Spare me the tips on apprehending scumbags, will you?" said Shaw sharply. Root looked away and bit her lip. "I can't believe you of all people are commenting on my excessive violence." That may have come out a little harsher than intended, but at that moment, Shaw didn't care and she watched as Root's face betrayed the hurt she was feeling and Shaw took satisfaction that she had been the cause of it.

So maybe she was being a little excessive, taking her anger out on easy targets while Root watched. Shaw imagined that Root was wondering if Shaw had been picturing her face as she punched and kicked, and maybe part of her was. She was punishing Root in the only way she could. And it felt good, for a little while, until about the third or fourth number. Then it wasn't enough and she was playing it up, trying to get a rise out of Root as she watched stoically from the car. She had been successful this time, but Shaw still felt the urge to clench her hands into fists, to lash out with more violence than she had ever felt. Neither of them was squeamish; Shaw didn't doubt Root relished in the pleasure that could come from pain. But Shaw wanted to make her hurt in different ways. Even if the only thing she could do was make the other woman watch as she slowly lost control.

"Does it hurt?" Root asked distantly, gesturing to Shaw's bloody hand.

"I've had worse," Shaw said, shrugging off her injuries as if they were nothing more than a scratch.

"I know," said Root quietly, her voice softer than before and it was enough to take some of the edge off of Shaw's anger. She had been there when Shaw had been shot. Shaw remembered warm hands on her face as she struggled with the cold seeping through her entire body, Root willing her to stay alive, stay with _her_. She had forgotten until then, until that moment in the car, just the two of them. She had forgotten the sheer panic that had been on Root's face, how she wouldn't let go. Shaw didn't remember anything after that, not until she woke up in the motel room with Reese standing watch over her and Root's marked absence during her recovery.

Shaw remembered all of that. She remembered the way Reese had said _she cares about you, more than you know_ , remembered how she had tried to ignore it and focus on the pain.

She couldn't ignore it now, not with them both sitting here, alone, bloody and broken in so many different ways.

But then Finch called with another number and anything Shaw was going to say or admit was lost to the void.

"...From what I can tell, our number likes to frequent a bar named _Harley’s._ "

"Yeah, I know it," said Shaw. "What does he look like?"

"He has a rather garish tattoo on his face," said Finch and she could tell he was cringing from behind his computer screens. "You'll know it when you see it."

"That's it?" said Shaw. It wasn't like Finch to be so cryptic, but he'd already hung up, no doubt because the Machine was contacting him with another number.

Shaw sighed and headed in the direction of the bar Harold had named. It was in a rough area of town that from the looks of things hadn’t managed to avoid the city’s riots. Burnt out and abandoned cars lined the streets, store fronts with boarded up windows and Shaw could hear an alarm going off somewhere not too far. The bar itself looked unaffected, but then it was hard to tell. Its windows were blacked with dirt and she couldn’t see inside.

Shaw parked a little ways down the street and headed into the bar. Root didn’t follow her.

The bar was dingier than the one Shaw had worked at during her life under her alias. It seemed so long ago now and she didn’t miss it one bit. Shaw took a seat at the bar and ordered a scotch. The bartender eyed her for a moment before getting her drink and she realised how out of place she must look. There were no other woman in the bar, and even if there were, Shaw doubted if she would have been welcome. She got a bad vibe and quickly wondered if it was a mistake coming in here so soon. Maybe she should have staked the place out first. But the numbers had been coming in so fast, and she couldn’t stand to be in the car with Root any longer so she had ignored all her usual cautiousness.

The bartender returned with her drink. Shaw sipped it wordlessly and could feel eyes on her. She glanced around the room; the four other patrons were watching her as they drank their own drinks. None of them had tattoos on their face and Shaw wondered if their latest number was even going to show up, if Finch had got it wrong somehow.

She was just about to leave when she heard a noise in the back and froze in place. She listened again but couldn't hear anything else. But she had been sure she had heard something like a squeal. Or a cry for help.

"That'll be five bucks," said the bartender. He had his arms folded and was staring at her coldly, but Shaw could see the drops of sweat start to bead slowly on his forehead.

"Actually, I'm looking for a friend of mine," said Shaw, buying for time. She made a show of searching her pockets for some cash. "Tall guy. Tattoo on his face."

The bartender clenched his jaw. "Look, lady. Just pay for your drink and get out."

But then Shaw heard it again and this time she was convinced it was someone crying for help.

"I don't think so," said Shaw.

The bartender's eyes darted to the door that led to the back room, then back to Shaw. He reached under the bar for something, but Shaw was too quick for him, grabbing him by the back of the head and slamming his face onto the bar. He slumped unconscious and slid to the floor.

Shaw sensed movement behind her - the four other guys were on their feet, each of them reaching for guns. Shaw launched herself behind the bar and took cover, cursing under her breath as gunfire broke out. How many times had she been shot at today? Had to be some kind of record, she thought.

Shaw took out the four guys with ease and ventured out from behind the bar, kicking their guns away as they writhed on the floor. Still no sign of her number with the face tattoo though.

She was too busy zip tying the four guys and the bartender that she didn't notice someone come up behind her. Shaw turned just in time to see a baseball bat swinging in the direction of her head. She managed to duck out of its way and was on her feet, ready to fight. The owner of the baseball bat had to be the biggest guy she had ever seen; nearing seven foot and muscles built like a tree. His arms were covered with tattoos, as was his neck, and to top it all off, a swastika on his left cheek. Oh yeah, this was definitely her number.

Shaw took a swing at him but it was like hitting a solid wall. Tattoo Face grabbed her by the arm and shoved her up against the wall, knocking the wind out of her.

"Fucking bitch," he hissed as he pressed one arm into her throat. Shaw tried to reach for the gun in her pocket, but only her left arm was free and it was in her right and she couldn't reach it. So she tried to prise the guy's hand away as he squeezed the breath out of her, but his arm was solid, even as she dug her fingernails in deep and she doubted he could even feel it.

Her vision started to dull, her lungs burning with the lack of air. But then Tattoo Face jolted suddenly and she slipped from his grip as his body started to convulse.

Root stood over him with the taser in her hand, a dark look on her face. She probably shocked him more than was necessary, but Shaw was too busy coughing to notice as her lungs desperately tried to fill with oxygen. She slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Thanks, but I had that covered," Shaw said with a tinge of annoyance between breaths.

Root rolled her eyes. "Yeah, looked like it," she said sardonically.

Shaw ignored her and got to her feet, trying not to stumble as she made her way to the back room. She wasn't at all surprised by what she found there: a girl - couldn't be older than sixteen - tied up half naked and bloody. Shaw cut her loose and told her to run. The girl didn't need to be told twice and she ran past Shaw without a word.

"A thank you would be nice," Shaw muttered to her retreating form.

Instead she was met with Root's smug face. Shaw ignored her and withdrew out the back door and into an alley at the back of the bar, trying to resist the urge to rub at her throbbing throat.

Root followed her. "Don't tell me you’re angry at me for saving your ass now."

"You didn't save me," Shaw said grumpily.

"Right," said Root, dragging the word out, “because that guy _wasn't_ about to strangle you to do death."

"Look," Shaw snapped, turning round and getting right up in the other woman's face. "Whatever you're doing here, don't. I don't need your help and I don't want it."

"Fine," said Root.

"Fine," said Shaw.

But neither of them moved and Shaw could feel her anger welling up again. _Angry is easy_ , she thought as she watched Root look at her with a mixture of apology, pity and something else. Shaw preferred the smug look. This look she couldn’t stand. She wanted to wipe it away. She wanted it gone. And this time, Root didn't even need to taunt her into doing it. Shaw started punching her, again and again until she had Root backed up against the wall, falling to her knees.

"Fight back," Shaw yelled as her fist connected with flesh and she didn't know what she was fighting for anymore. She didn't know anything.

But Root didn't fight back, didn't try to stop Shaw either, just sat and took it as the bruises formed and the blood welled up.

And then Shaw found the rage leaving her as quickly as it came and she grabbed Root by the lapels of her jacket, lifting her up to her feet and pushing her against the wall.

Then she was kissing her.

Shaw could taste the blood from her split lip, could taste _Root_ and she wanted more. Her hands roamed downwards, to the waistband of Roots jeans, a hand frantically slipping inside as she bit Root's already broken lip.

But Root grabbed her wrists a pushed her away. "Stop."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Shaw asked, breathing heavily and looking at Root for the first time in what felt like years, wondering what the hell she was doing, how this woman could make her lose control so easily.

"You," Root said so quietly that Shaw could barely hear her. "I just want you."

Shaw started at that, the honesty in Root’s tone hitting her harder than any fist could.

Shaw shook her head. "I can't do this."

She tried to get angry again but she couldn't, and all she was left with was a feeling of emptiness so great she thought she was going to suffocate from it. She wandered back to the car, knowing Root would follow her.

“Here,” said Shaw, opening the door for Root to get in the back seat. She looked pretty pathetic, Shaw thought, as she tried not to wince with every step, blood trailing down her face and… okay, so maybe Shaw did feel a little bit guilty.

Root got into the back seat and Shaw took the first aid kit from the trunk of the car, getting in beside the other woman. Most of the blood on Root's face was from her split lip and a small cut on her left cheek. Shaw applied pressure to the wounds with a piece of gauze, being more gentle than she would have usually.

"It doesn't need stitches, but we should get some ice for the swelling." Shaw made to move but Root grabbed her wrist, keeping her in place.

"It's okay, you don't have to."

They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other, sitting impossibly close, close enough that Shaw could smell the blood and the shampoo in Root's hair. Eventually, Shaw sat back and felt a jolt of something at the look of disappointment on Root's face.

"I can't," Shaw said, facing the front because it was easier than looking at her. "I can't give you what you want."

Because what else was she supposed to say? What else was she supposed to _do_? She wasn't built for this kind of stuff.

Root reached out a hand to grab Shaw by the chin, turning her face so that Shaw was looking at her. Shaw reluctantly met her eyes.

"You aren't broken, Sameen," Root said. Shaw opened her mouth to protest, but Root put a finger over her lips to shush her. "I just want you and I'll take all that you can give."

Root took her hand back when Shaw didn't say anything and retreated back to her side of the car with an air of disappointment.

Shaw didn't know how long they sat there in silence. Root didn't say anything else and she didn't need to. She had lain out all her cards, shown Shaw her hand and now, whatever happened next, was up to her.

"What does the Machine think of all this?" Shaw asked, playing for time.

Root shot her an exasperated look. "You really want to know?"

Shaw shrugged, wondering at which point she had decided it was a good idea to ask a machine its opinion on her love life. And at which point had she started referring to this thing between her and Root as her love life?

"Honestly," said Root, "She thinks we're both idiots."

Shaw chuckled slightly. "Well, She's right about that."

"Yeah," Root agreed. She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Shaw, gesturing to Root's wounds, and she was sorry. Sorry for beating the crap out of her, for not being able to be the person Root wanted or needed her to be.

"Don't," said Root, shaking her head. "It's okay."

"No," said Shaw, "it isn't." And she leaned forward to kiss her. It wasn't okay. She didn't know if it ever would be, but when she was kissing Root, she thought it might just be.

Root hissed when Shaw's teeth scraped against her split bottom lip and then she was pulling away.

"Sorry," said Shaw.

"No," said Root. Her hands were still in Shaw's hair and Shaw shivered when her fingers brushed against her skin. "I mean, Harold's about to call with another number."

"Oh," said Shaw, and sure enough, Finch was talking in her ear again, giving her a description and location of their latest number. She wondered vaguely if he was timing this on purpose, but she forgot all about Finch when Root kissed her again, slowly at first, but then Shaw could feel things escalating, knew that one of them had to stop this now before it got out of hand.

Shaw pulled away reluctantly. “Work,” she mumbled incoherently. Root nodded and they both got out of the car at the same time.

Shaw headed for the driver’s door but paused when Root started to walk away. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Don't know yet," said Root with a smile. "She needs me somewhere."

"Root-" Shaw began.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," said Root and if anything Shaw worried more. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because Root's smile only widened. "Stay safe, Shaw," she called over her shoulder.

Shaw watched her until she disappeared down the street. Then she looked up. It wasn't hard to find the nearest security camera, with its red light blinking at her and she knew the Machine was watching her.

"You'd better keep her safe," she said to it, then felt a little foolish. She was talking to a _camera._

_I'm turning into Reese_ , she thought and got into the car.


	13. Chapter 11

The numbers stopped coming in around five in the morning. Shaw headed back to the safe house and slumped, exhausted, onto the couch. Finch looked disgustingly bright eyed when he greeted her, but it quickly turned into a concerned frown when he eyed her up and down. She knew she looked like shit, but Finch had the good sense not to comment on her bleeding hand or bruised throat.

Reese appeared not too long after her. He sat in the chair opposite her and closed his eyes, looking as tired as Shaw felt.

"What happened to you?" Shaw asked, taking in his wet clothes and noting the way his feet had squelched as he walked across the wooden floor.

Reese shrugged. "Had a run in with a guy near the Hudson," he said without opening his eyes.

Shaw smirked. "You mean you fell in?"

"You should see the other guy," said Reese grumpily.

"I received a phone call from Mr Casey," said Finch. "It looks like Detective Fusco is going to be alright - thanks to Miss Shaw's efforts." He beamed at her and she wondered if she was finally forgiven for letting Root escape on her watch. Or maybe so much had happened since then, with the Machine coming back online, that it seemed insignificant now.

"That's good," Reese muttered tiredly.

"I think the Machine has decided to give us a break for the moment," said Finch. "Perhaps you two should..." But he tapered off when he realised neither of them were listening and soon both Shaw and Reese were fast asleep.

*

Shaw awoke with a stiff neck from sleeping awkwardly on the couch but she felt more rested than she had in days, even if her body was aching all over. Someone had tossed a blanket over her at some point in the night and it fell to the floor in a heap at her feet when she stood up.

She found Reese and Finch in the kitchen, each of them sipping from steaming mugs: green tea for Finch and coffee for Reese.

"What time is it?" Shaw asked through a yawn.

"Just after noon," said Finch handing her a mug of coffee.

Shaw accepted it gratefully. It was just how she liked it: hot and the blackest of blacks. "No more numbers?” she asked.

"Not yet, but it's still early," said Reese.

"We were thinking of stopping by the library," said Finch.

"Is that a good idea?" Shaw asked. Even with Samaritan gone (for good, she didn't know) Decima still knew that they were alive and the library would probably be the first place they would be looking for them the moment they regrouped.

Reese shrugged. "Greer's out of commission, isn't he?"

Shaw nodded, but that didn't mean Greer couldn't call the shots from a hospital bed. Plus there was Control to worry about. Eventually, they decided to go - the Machine was watching their backs again after all. And Shaw was curious to see the library again too.

Shaw showered and changed into clean clothes and re-dressed the bandages of her many wounds. Then she joined the guys again and they headed to the library.

From the outside, nothing looked amiss, but inside was a different story. Books were strewn haphazardly across the floor, bookshelves toppled over and the glass board that Harold used to use for putting up pictures of their numbers lay broken on the floor, smashed glass crunching underneath their feet.

Finch stepped awkwardly over a pile of books from the biography section and headed towards his old desk. His computers were gone and he stared at the empty desk with a blank look on his face.

Shaw glanced at Reese and he gestured for them to retreat into the other room, leaving Harold alone with his thoughts. Reese started to tidy up some of the books, placing them back on the shelves, but not in any sort of order that made sense. Shaw left him to it and soon found herself in the back of the library and the old cage that Harold had once kept Root in for a time. It was empty now, the cage door wide open. Books were everywhere here too and the large wooden table in the centre of the room had been thrown onto its side.

Shaw ventured inside. The room was smaller than she remembered and it was hard to imagine being locked up in here for weeks with only Harold’s infrequent visits with food to keep her company. But Root had endured this. Because of her. Just another thing for Shaw to add to her list of things to feel guilty about.

Shaw took a seat on the bench that had once been Root’s makeshift bed. She stayed like that for a while, she wasn’t sure how long, but Reese found her eventually and he took a seat beside her. They stared at the mess for a bit until Reese finally broke the silence.

“I’ve been doing a bit of thinking the past couple of weeks,” he said, staring straight ahead, clasping his hands together and leaning on his knees.

“That must be new for you,” Shaw deadpanned.

“Shut up, I’m trying to do a thing,” said Reese.

“If we’re about to have a sentimental heart to heart, I’m gonna need some of Harold’s good whisky,” said Shaw. She made to move, but Reese grabbed her arm, keeping her in place. If he had been anyone else, she would have broken the offending appendage by now. But something inside her decided to hear him out and she stayed where she was, staring at a spot on the floor that was miraculously free of books.

“Being alone sucks,” he said quietly and she knew he was thinking about Carter and all that could have been.

“I prefer being alone,” Shaw said. “It’s kinda my thing.”

“Maybe that was true a year ago,” said Reese, “but do you really believe that now?”

Shaw didn’t say anything. She didn’t have an answer for him.

“You almost died, Shaw,” said Reese and she rolled her eyes at his softened tone. “Which probably isn’t a first for you,” he added. “This thing we do… it’s dangerous.”

“That’s why I like it,” Shaw said.

Reese nodded. “Remember what I said to you, about not having to walk in the dark alone?”

“John,” said Shaw, her voice low and threatening.

“She’s good for you,” Reese interrupted, heedless of her warning, and Shaw didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about. It was why she had come in here, the one room in the entire building that was all about Root. It still smelled a little like her too, Shaw thought.

Shaw looked away, shaking her head. “And what if I’m not good for her?” she asked quietly.

John shrugged. “You’re not going to know that until you try.”

Silence descended on them once again, but Shaw barely noticed, her thoughts a thousand miles away, back to that small town in the middle of nowhere where she had been more bored than she had ever been in her entire life. Until the Machine had called her.

The Machine had contacted her to save Root, and not Reese, not anyone else. Maybe Shaw had been closest, or maybe the Machine knew she would answer the call and Reese wouldn’t. Shaw didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t like the thought of losing Root then, just like she didn’t like the thought of losing Root now.

Shaw decided something then. And in that moment everything was clearer, the room looked a little brighter and she finally felt for the first time in a long time that everything was going to be alright.

"Am I interrupting something?" Finch had appeared at the entrance to the cage, eyeing them both curiously as they sat side by side in silence.

"We were just discussing how we're going to need a new base of operations," said Reese and Shaw was grateful he hadn’t brought up what they were really talking about.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing levity into her voice, “we were thinking of moving to a shooting range.”

Finch glanced between them both, looking a little startled. “I think not.”

*

It had been two days and Shaw still hadn't heard from Root. She tried not to worry, but that just caused her to worry more. Even the guys hadn't heard from her when she asked them. And the Machine wasn’t being forthcoming either.

But now that she had decided, now that she was willing to give it a go, she was impatient, and she sensed everything around her with a heightened awareness. Finch would glance at her concernedly every so often and she wondered what she must look like. But Reese just looked at her like he was proud of himself and she felt like smacking him across the head.

The geek squad looked a little lost without their leader but Harold quickly took a shine to all three of them. They had ventured out of hiding in their hotel room on Harold's request and what followed was the most technical and nerdy conversation that Shaw had been witness too. The boys now clearly knew about the Machine and they all looked at Harold with a sense of awe and worship on their faces, unable to get over the fact that he had built it.

They were kind of annoying actually and Shaw was relieved about the seemingly never ending numbers coming in. They were a good outlet for all her worrying too.

"You think the Machine is still producing relevant numbers?" she asked Reese on their way to their latest number.

Reese shrugged. "If it is, the question is: who's dealing with them?"

Shaw wondered if that was where Root was. The thought wouldn't leave her for the rest of the day and if she unnecessarily broke a bad guy's arm, Reese didn't comment.

They returned to the safe house to find Fusco looking a little worse for wear, but alright for the most part. Harold announced that they all needed a night off and they headed to a bar down the street. Daizo's face brightened when he realised where they were going but it quickly turned into disappointment when Harold placed a diet soda in front of him instead of the more alcoholic drink he had been hoping for. Daniel and Jason both grinned around their beers and Shaw found herself smiling a little too.

"I heard you’re the person to thank for saving my ass," said Fusco, quietly settling into the bar stool beside her.

She shrugged. "Just doing what I'm good at."

"Well it looks like you're good at saving my life, so thank you," Fusco said with genuine sincerity. He clinked his glass of club soda against her bottle of beer.

"So has Finch told you what this is all about yet?" she asked, swallowing a mouthful of beer.

Lionel turned his head to look at Finch, watched as he laughed at some dumb joke Daniel made before turning his attention back to her. "Actually," he said, "I've decided I don't want to know."

Shaw glanced at him in surprise. "Good choice."

"Yeah, well, ignorance is bliss and all that," said Fusco.

They sat in silence for a moment then Fusco lifted his arm awkwardly as if he were about to pat her on the back affectionately or something equally as disgusting. But he quickly changed his mind at her look and headed back to the table where the others were sat.

Shaw downed the rest of her drink and slipped out of the bar before the guys could notice. The air was cold as the wind whipped at her face, but Shaw liked it and could feel herself becoming more awake, more alert as she stood out on the street in front of the bar.

She didn't know how long she stood there before she realised there was someone behind her. It was the smell of her more than anything that gave her away.

"You know," said Shaw, "you're not nearly as good at sneaking up on me without the Machine in your ear."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sameen," Root simpered.

Shaw was smiling when she turned around but it quickly turned into a frown when she saw Root's face. "Shit, Root." She reached out a hand and gently traced the bruises, black and blue and ugly, on Root's face _. I did this_ , she thought. "I am so sorry."

"It's okay," said Root grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away. "I'll heal. Besides, how many times have I drugged and tased you? I'd say we're even."

"Is that what you think? That I was trying to get even?"

"Shaw," said Root carefully. "Don't. It's okay. _Really_."

But Shaw shook her head. Root may have tased her, drugged and kidnapped her, but what Shaw had done was way out of line. She hadn't realised just how out of control she had been the other night until she saw Root again, saw the injuries, the pain and the hurt, she had caused.

And there it was again, that little spark of doubt that said that this was a Bad Idea. But then Root tugged on her arm where she was still holding her wrist and Shaw thought about what Reese had said, how she didn't have to do this alone.

"I-" she began, but whatever she was going to say was lost to the wind and her courage seemed to fail her. Root looked at her a little sadly and let go of her wrist.

"Not celebrating with the others?" Root asked, changing the subject and glancing through the window to look at the boys, laughing and joking inside the bar without them.

Shaw shrugged. "Felt like going home." She frowned. "If I still have a home," she added. She hadn't been back to her place yet. They'd all been crashing at the safe house in between numbers.

Root smiled and dangled a set of keys in front of her face. "Gift from the Machine," said Root. "An apology for giving you such a dull alias and a thank you for not getting bored and taking it out on the entire town."

Shaw looked at her in surprise, but then smiled and took the proffered keys.

"She'll text you the address," Root added and made to walk away.

"Wait, that's it? Where are you going?"

Root paused and turned to face her again. "I've got a few errands to run."

"What kind of errands?" asked Shaw, doubting the Machine was sending her on a shopping trip.

"Just tying up a few loose ends," Root said cryptically.

"Root," Shaw warned.

Root sighed. "Greer still needs to be neutralised."

"Do I want to know what that means?" asked Shaw.

"Let's just say it involves 500 kilograms of cocaine stashed in his condo," said Root with a smirk.

"Right," said Shaw, shaking her head in amusement. "Wait," she said hurriedly when Root made to leave again. "Just... be careful," said Shaw.

Root nodded and turned to leave.

"And," said Shaw and Root stopped in her tracks once again, sighing in exaggeration, "if you need back up, just, uh... you know where to find me."

Root nodded in exasperation, but she was smiling all the same. She made it halfway across the street before Shaw stopped her again.

"Just one more thing," said Shaw and Root raised her eyebrows at her curiously. Shaw stepped forward and leaned up to brush her lips against Root's. The kiss was chaste, Shaw was conscious of Root's bruising, and it was over sooner than she would have liked. But she was rewarded with Root staring at her a little breathlessly when she pulled away and the most genuine smile she had seen from the other woman in a while.

“Bye, Shaw,” said Root with a self-satisfied smile.

This time Shaw didn't stop her when Root left and she watched the other woman's retreating form until she turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared out of sight.

Shaw sighed heavily, wondering when she had become so pathetic. As if in response to her questioning thought, her phone beeped from inside her pocket. Shaw took it out and stared at the address the Machine had sent her.

"This is all your fault," she said to it and knew the Machine was listening. "And now I'm talking to my phone," she muttered, shaking her head. "And to myself. Just fucking great."

*

The address the Machine had sent her was in a nice area of town and not one she would have considered normally, although she could afford it with what Harold paid her. Well, what he used to pay her anyway. She was just assuming things were going to go back to normal now that the Machine was back in business. Not that what they did could ever be considered normal.

The apartment was spacious, not as bare as her usual decor would be, but she liked it nonetheless, she supposed. Although, she did wonder why the Machine felt the need to give her a two bedroomed place. The kitchen was big too, and she was pleased to find, when she opened the fridge, a hefty arsenal of guns and a six pack of beer. _Nice touch_ , she thought.

Shaw grabbed a beer and took a seat on her new couch, resting her feet on the coffee table. She'd almost reached the bottom of the bottle when her phone rang. The caller was unknown, but Shaw didn't think it was Finch.

"Do you like your new place?" asked Root cheerily.

"I've had worse," said Shaw nonchalantly.

"I'll take that as a thank you," said Root and Shaw could tell she was rolling her eyes at her.

"Where are you?" asked Shaw, thinking she could hear what sounded like a subway train in the background.

"I told you, on an errand," said Root a little too casually. "But don't worry, I'll be over later to help you christen the sheets."

Shaw rolled her eyes but smiled widely anyway. Then she wondered if the Machine was relaying that to Root and quickly schooled her features into a more neutral expression. Then she realised she was being ridiculous and tried to sit casually, suspecting that she was failing at that too.

"Oh, by the way," said Root, interrupting her thoughts, "there's someone at your door."

"What? How do you... nevermind," said Shaw as her doorbell rang.

When Shaw opened the door, a courier handed her over a small brown package without a word. Shaw kicked the door closed, wedging her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she ripped open the package. Something small and heavy fell into her palm and Shaw could do nothing but stare at it in disbelief.

"Thought you lost it, didn't you?" Root smirked.

Shaw eyed the Order of Lenin in her hand, rubbing her thumb over the metal surface until it shined brightly at her, catching the reflection of the street light outside. "Root, how did you?"

"Thought I'd keep it safe until you were feeling better," said Root.

Shaw didn't know what to say and she sat back on the couch, still staring at the medal in her hand, thinking about how much of an ass she had been over everything.

"Anyway," said Root after a while, "gotta go."

"What?" said Shaw suddenly. "Oh, right... errand. Hey, Root," she added a little hesitantly, "…thanks."

"Anytime, Shaw," Root replied, and there was a smile in her voice.

“Um, and Root,” said Shaw, clearing her throat, “if you wanted to come over later, you can… if you want. Or we could go out… or whatever,” she added lamely, cringing inwardly.

“Why, Sameen Shaw, are you asking me out on a date?” said Root brightly. She sounded positively thrilled by the idea. Shaw gritted her teeth.

“Look, if you’re going to make a big deal out of it,” said Shaw menacingly into the phone, “you can forget it.”

“I’m not, I promise,” said Root innocently and Shaw didn’t believe her. "But I'd like that," she added seriously, "going out or 'whatever.'"

Shaw thought Root might be making fun of her slightly and she had the urge to back track on the whole thing. But she tightened her grip on the Order of Lenin in her hand, thought about all Root had done for _her_. The least she could do for Root was give it a go. She deserved that much. Maybe they both did.

Root said goodbye and hung up. Shaw sat back against the couch cushions, worrying away at the label on her empty beer bottle well into the late hours of the night.

They'd be okay, she thought. In that weird, fucked up way of theirs, they'd be okay.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is the last part. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> This epilogue is pure shameless, self-indulgent fluff for which I am not going to even bother apologising for.

**Six Months Later**

The apartment was dark and quiet when she crept in through the front door. The Machine guided her through the living room, but Root knew the place well enough by now that she could navigate it in the dark without bumping into anything. She even managed to dodge the loose floorboard that always squeaked horrendously loud in the stillness of the night. That had given her away the first time she had done this and was the reason for the bullet hole in the wall by the front door. It was an interesting addition to the décor at least.

Getting through the bedroom door without making a sound was the tricky part. Root took off her shoes and jacket before slipping into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her as she padded toward the bed and its single occupant.

Root sat carefully on the edge of the mattress; it dipped under her weight and the figure stirred. She reached out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair away and a hand shot out suddenly, catching her wrist and holding it tightly in place.

"You really need to stop doing that," Shaw mumbled, peering at Root through the slits of her eyelids.

"Nice to see you too, Shaw," said Root, but she was smiling on the inside. Usually she was met with a gun in her face or a knife at her throat. They were making progress.

Root lifted one leg over to straddle Shaw's waist, dipping her head down so that their lips were almost touching. "Did you miss me?"

"No," said Shaw.

"Liar," Root mumbled before nibbling at Shaw's bottom lip.

Shaw lay rigid, still half asleep, but she loosened up slightly when Root trailed her tongue across Shaw’s jaw and down her neck.

"I like having the bed to myself," Shaw muttered, groaning slightly as Root sucked on her neck.

"You're going to have to learn how to share now that we're in a relationship," said Root, bringing her lips back up to meet Shaw's.

"We're not in a relationship," Shaw said against her mouth.

“We kind of are,” said Root, darting her tongue out to meet Shaw’s briefly before pulling back. She was teasing and Shaw growled in annoyance when Root leaned out of her reach.

“No,” said Shaw, “we’re not.”

“Yes,” Root insisted, bringing her mouth close to Shaw’s again, “we are.”

"Fine," said Shaw, grabbing Root's upper arms and pushing her backwards so they could both sit up. "But if you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

"Fair enough," said Root, but it was a little distractedly as Shaw's tongue started to do interesting things to her neck.

Root grabbed Shaw’s face, fingers threading through her hair, bringing their mouths together to kiss Shaw hungrily, tongues dancing frantically with each other. She'd only been gone a week, but she had missed this; missed the taste and feel of Shaw pressed up against her.

Shaw's hands started to wander underneath her shirt, sending a shiver through Root's body. She let out a moan which quickly turned into a hiss of pain when Shaw's hand brushed against her right side.

Shaw pulled back immediately, scowling up at her as she lifted Root's shirt up to have a look. Root knew there was no point in resisting, not with that look on Shaw's face that said she was about to go into doctor mode and start fussing.

"You really need to be more careful," said Shaw, peeling back the bandage to have a closer look. "Or start taking better back-up with you other than the Three Stooges."

"I'm fine," Root insisted, and she was. It was a through and through, the bullet had barely grazed her. It hadn't even bled all that much.

"You were shot, Root," Shaw admonished, and Root could detect the hint of worry around the other woman's eyes. It wasn't always there, Shaw usually kept it well hidden, but Root could see it for the briefest of moments. It made the fussing almost bearable and Root smiled.

"It was an accident," Root explained. "Jason didn't mean it."

"Greenfield shot you?" asked Shaw in disbelief.

"In all fairness," said Root reasonably, "he was aiming for a terrorist at the time. He just happened to miss."

"That's it," said Shaw in exasperation, "I'm taking all three of them out for target practice."

"I'm sure they'll be thrilled," said Root cynically. "Jason's kind of terrified of you."

Shaw looked genuinely proud of herself at that for a moment, but it quickly disappeared when she started prodding at Root's wound again. Root wasn't entirely sure why, but Shaw had taken an instant dislike to Jason. Daniel and Daizo she tolerated, as long as they stayed out of her way, but with Jason it was like they were always trying to one up the other. At least the hatred was mutual.

"Who stitched you up?" Shaw asked, finishing her examination and replacing the bandage.

"Daizo."

"Daizo?" Shaw repeated. "Faints-at-the-sight-of-blood Daizo?" said Shaw, shaking her head at the amateur first aid.

Root rolled her eyes. "I'm _fine_." She kissed Shaw to prove her point, and Shaw finally relented, letting go of her shirt and grabbing Root by the hips, tugging her closer.

Root deepened the kiss, slipping her hands underneath the hem of Shaw's shirt, skimming upwards to brush against taut nipples. Shaw made a little noise against Root's mouth, not quite a moan, definitely unlike Shaw, and Root knew Shaw would vehemently deny it was ever brought up. Root tried to push her down onto the bed, but she wouldn't budge. Instead, Shaw grinned, grabbing Root by the wrists.

"Did I say you could touch me?"

"No," said Root.

"You're so impatient," said Shaw, smirking.

The playful teasing was new, Root noted, but she wasn't complaining. Especially not when Shaw kissed her, biting her bottom lip. It must have been a long week for both of them because Shaw let go of her wrists almost immediately and started to explore underneath Root's shirt again, careful to avoid her bandaged side and reached up to deftly unhook her bra with one hand.

"Now who's impatient?" Root muttered into her ear.

"Shut up." Shaw brought their lips together again and Root moaned, exaggerating it a little to get a rise out of the other woman. But Shaw didn't bite. Instead she dug her fingernails in a little harder, almost as if she were daring Root to keep it up. Root, naturally, rose to the challenge, but clamped her mouth shut when she heard a noise from the other room.

The loose floor board in the living room squeaked and they both froze, pulling apart slightly.

"Did you bring the dream trio back with you?" Shaw asked irately.

Root shook her head. There was another squeak and the bedroom door started to creak open.

Root and Shaw both looked at each other. "Gen," they said at the same time. And sure enough, Gen appeared in the doorway, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.

"Root!" she exclaimed when she saw her. "You're back.” She looked positively gleeful at the sight of her and Root felt her heart warm in response. The Machine muttered an (in a rather smug tone) ‘I told you so’ in her ear. Root ignored Her. “Oh, am I interrupting something?" Gen added, staring between them both.

"No," Shaw said coolly.

"Yes," said Root pointedly.

"We were just talking," Shaw added, glaring at Root.

"Yeah right," said Gen, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

Shaw hurriedly removed her hands and inched slightly away from Root as if that would make their positions appear more innocent. Shaw had become adorably prudish since Gen had moved in. Not that Root would ever say that to her face. Not when they were sitting this close anyway. And not if she wanted to have sex again in the foreseeable future.

"Did you bring me a present?" Gen asked Root excitedly.

"Can't you wait until morning?" said Root.

"Technically, it is morning," Gen pointed out, glancing at the alarm clock by the bed that depicted the time as 4:08 am.

Root rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said, getting up and nudging Gen out of the room, following along behind her. The girl seemed to become brattier every time Root saw her and she wondered how much of it was Shaw's influence. At least Harold had tried to teach the kid some manners during her short stint at staying with him at the start of the summer.

Root retrieved her jacket from the couch and fished inside the pocket before handing an object over to Gen.

Gen took it greedily but her face filled with disappointment when she saw it. "A watch?” she said, staring at the bulky timepiece. “That's kinda lame."

Shaw snorted from the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms folded.

Root glared at them both, snatching the watch back from the kid and pressing a button on the side. A red light flashed on the face and Gen leaned in for a closer look, suddenly interested again.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Audio and visual recording," explained Root. She pressed the button on the side again to turn it off and handed the watch back.

"Cool!" said Gen and ran back into her room without so much as a thank you. _That_ was definitely Shaw's influence.

"Didn't Finch tell us not to encourage that?" said Shaw, staring after Gen in amusement.

Root shrugged. Harold had been adamant about no guns and no spy gear. "What Harold doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Did you steal that off a dead guy?" Shaw asked.

"He wasn't dead at the time," Root said casually. He had been bleeding to death when she took the watch, but she had left him breathing.

"What did you bring _me_?" Shaw asked.

"Who says I brought you anything," said Root.

Shaw scowled and Root considered playing with her for a bit. But she'd already woken Shaw up at four in the morning, tried to hide her bullet wound and knew better than to push her luck, so she took a slip of folded paper out of her back pocket and handed it over.

"You were right," said Root, smiling at the way Shaw's face lit up as she unfolded the recipe, "Mario does make the best lobster ravioli."

"Told you," said Shaw. Root watched as her eyes scanned down the new recipe.

"Seared swordfish," said Root, nodding at the recipe. "The boys had it - it smelled good."

"And you're making this for me when?" asked Shaw.

"Maybe later, if you're good," said Root tugging Shaw towards her so she could kiss her, pleased that Shaw was no longer paranoid that Root might try to slip poison into her food or something.

Shaw pushed her backwards until the back of her legs hit the couch, and she sat down, bringing Shaw with her so that she was now sitting on her lap.

"You know I can still hear you guys, right?" Gen called from her bedroom.

Shaw pulled back, her lips pressed tightly together in a thin line. "This kid is ruining my sex life," she huffed quietly. "How long before she goes back to school?"

"One month, three weeks and four days," Root mumbled into her mouth. The Machine told her it down to the minutes and seconds, but Shaw didn't need to know that. "And stop pretending you don't like having her around."

Shaw glowered, but didn't deny it.

"Besides," Root added, "who else are you going to use as an excuse to go out for midnight ice cream runs three nights in a row?"

Shaw pulled back slightly. "Okay, we really need to talk about you having the Machine spy on me when you're not here."

"It's not spying," Root insisted. It was just checking in, making sure Shaw hadn't snapped and shot the kid out of annoyance or something. Perfectly reasonable.

"It's creepy," Shaw glowered, but Root just smirked. "Whatever," Shaw said, "I'm going back to bed."

Root watched her get up, feeling a little cold at the loss of contact and leaned back into the couch cushions. The Machine whispered in her ear, letting her know the boys had got back to the safe house okay, and Root smiled, feeling like she belonged, like she was part of something special for the first time in her life, that she was accepted.

Shaw popped her head back through the bedroom door. "You coming or what?"

Root's smile widened.

Yes, they were definitely making progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may know, I have a sequel in the works. This epilogue can also be seen as a sort of prologue for that. I am very excited to start writing it (it definitely won't all be fluff and fun though). I have a few one shots that I want to write as well. So watch this space.


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